


Syzygy

by beautifulterriblequeen



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Aaravos Not Being An Asshole, Demi Runaan, Diviner Aaravos, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, Illusions are Cool, Long Hair, Meet-Cute, Moonshadow assassins - Freeform, Moonshadow elves, Multi, Rescue Missions, Save Runaan from that coin, Slow Burn, Sparring, Sparring is Hot, Tinker to the rescue, True Neutral Aaravos, biracial tinker, nifty prosthetic, sunblood tinker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2019-11-14 00:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulterriblequeen/pseuds/beautifulterriblequeen
Summary: Runaan is trapped in a coin by a dark magic spell--a fate worse than death to a Moonshadow. To hold on to who he is, he relives his memories of how he and the tinker met. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, a strange collaboration is underway to rescue him. But in the chaos that surrounds their rescue attempt, their success is threatened by the most powerful force any of them have ever encountered: destiny itself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't wait for TDP to rescue Runaan. So I'm doing it myself.
> 
> I've been doing a lot of staring at TDP screenshots and connecting dots and making theories up out of nowhere. Some of the details I mention in this story are canon. Some are probably canon. Some might be canon if you squint just right. And some are just for fun. I hope you enjoy my take on Runaan and his tinker--I do give him a name, btw--and my rescue of my favorite long-haired assassin.

_“Tell me a story, my shade. Tell me the story of how we met.”_

The lilting voice thinned the darkness with a gentle golden-green glow, full of soft swirls and glinting gleams. It even made a dent in the pain. But the pressure remained. It crushed Runaan, bound him tightly in the infinite, endless nothing that stretched in all directions. Despite not needing to breathe, his body craved the sensation of expanding, of drawing in cool air beneath a dazzling full moon. Lost in a world between light and dark, between life and death, Runaan ached in an eternal, breathless moment. The silent strain of not being able to live or to die was slowly driving him mad. His undeath went against the very essence of his Moon Arcanum and nibbled at the edges of his soul. But his Moon had not yet waned entirely.

 _“Tell me,”_ the voice encouraged. _“Or have you forgotten?”_

Images flickered through his mind: the garden, the wink of gems. The blade. _I haven’t forgotten. That day changed my life. That day led me here, too. Curse this hellish place! Am I comforting myself or just adding to my own torture?_ Runaan fought the urge to give in to the sweet hallucination. _Hard. I must be hard. I am already dead._

Laughter. That clear, gentle laugh had always sent a warm prickle across his skin. If only he could feel it now. He hadn’t heard it in…days? Weeks? Time lost meaning in the unbounded darkness. _“Don’t be so cold and stiff, Runaan. We both know your corpse impression needs work. And if you are breaking, wouldn’t you rather break_ with _me… than without me?”_

The thought surprised Runaan so much that he lost focus. He grimaced as the darkness pressed in more tightly. Runaan had assumed that the voice was a spinning fragment of his own sanity. But he wouldn’t have said those words. Words so soft and warm did not come easily to Runaan. But they did to _him_. “Are you real?” he whispered into the black void.

_“I’m as real as you are. Come on. Tell me a story. You know you want to.”_

Shaking with an exhaustion that ran to the very core of his soul, Runaan slowly surrendered. His bright blue eyes slipped shut, and a gentle sigh escaped his lips.

The darkness enveloped him.

 

***

 

“Runaan!”

If a whip crack could sound aghast, Sairsha’s voice managed it. The New Moon Councilwoman’s exclamation echoed through the domed black stone chamber the second Runaan set foot through its inner archway. He stopped just inside the arch, his long white hair framed against the black stone, and waited, jaw clenched, hands clasped tensely behind his ramrod-stiff back. He could feel the creak of his bracers as he flexed his forearms, trying to retain the illusion of aloof competence. But everyone in the room knew that was impossible.

Sairsha occupied the center seat up on the black dais before him. The other two members of the council sat to each side of her, presiding over the small round audience chamber inscribed with the phases of the moon. The black stone chamber seemed full of shadow that patiently waited to consume the council members—and Runaan as well—but the white marble inset in the black floor fairly glowed, lighting everyone’s faces from below.

The stern Moonshadow elf continued to voice her shock. “Runaan, why have you not cut your _hair_? Tell me you did not go before the Dragon Queen with such towering pride! Is your own disgrace not sufficient for you, that you seek to shame every last Moonshadow in the eyes of a mourning regent?”

Beside her, Thobar spoke the moment she finished talking. “This is most unseemly. Are not the Dragon Guard up to their necks in shame already? Would you bury every last one of you under it yourself?” The sturdy, middle-aged elf rapped his knuckles on the curving black table that separated them from Runaan and gave a bitter laugh. “The last time we dealt with someone _that_ removed from true feeling, all the magical races gathered together and locked him beyond the Moon Portal.”

The reference to the powerful archmage Aaravos sent a chill down Runaan’s already stiff spine, and he jerked his chin up a notch. The egg of the Dragon Prince was not the only thing lost in the humans’ attack.

“Perhaps we should let him speak.” Currin, the youngest New Moon council member, stared at Runaan.

He gave her his attention, but he could not don a mask of gratitude for her. His heart already carried too heavy a burden today, and he had no mind to engage in senseless niceties.

Currin continued, “Surely a member of the Dragon Guard knows the severance ritual as well as any Moonshadow? Tell us, Runaan.” She waved him forward. “What was the Dragon Queen’s pronouncement?”

Runaan stalked to the center of the floor. Every step with his left foot jostled his too-light sword sheath. Its broken blade had been a promise. But a promise had not been enough.

He stood in the upglow of the moonlit floor, working enough moisture onto his tongue to speak through the sorrow, shame, and hatred that roiled his heart. When he could control his emotions, he said, “The Dragon Guard is disbanded. We serve no purpose now that the egg of the Dragon Prince is destroyed.” Runaan paused, struggling to keep his breathing even. “And we who have disgraced ourselves are charged with righting the scales of justice.”

“What does that mean?” Sairsha asked.

Runaan’s jaw worked around the bitter taste of his punishment. “The Dragon Queen commands you, the New Moon Council, to investigate, convict, and sentence those guilty of this atrocity, whoever and wherever they may be. She commands _us_ , those that remain of the former Dragon Guard, to carry out that sentence against all guilty parties. We are commanded to bind ourselves to our mission as recompense for the failures of those…” Runaan’s voice faltered. His cheek twitched. No, he could not think of her now. Either of them. Not now. And never again. “…Of those who fled their duty to the Dragon Queen and contributed to the death of the Dragon King and his heir. Only in this manner will our lost honor be restored.”

“What?” Currin gasped. “That’s barbaric! No one has used binding ribbons in centuries!”

Runaan remained silent. He already understood the extremity of his situation.

“And if we find the guilty parties to be your sister? Her husband?” Thobard’s voice was not unkind.

Runaan kept his eyes on the new moon etched in the stone floor before him. “I will do my duty.”

“Will Rayla?” Currin asked. Her quiet voice echoed around the black dome like spirits whispering in the dark.

At that, Runaan’s head snapped up. Cold fire kindled in his turquoise eyes. “ _I will do my duty!_ When the time comes, Rayla will be bound like the rest of us, but I will not force her to choose between her own hands and the lives of her parents. The Dragon Queen’s judgment is harsh enough as it is.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sairsha said. “The New Moon Council will decide your targets, Runaan. Until then, I suggest you spend your time readying your cohort for whatever may come. I assume you can handle that?”

Runaan’s curt nod was his only reply.

“Why _did_ the Dragon Queen let you keep your hair, Runaan?” Currin asked.

Runaan became keenly aware of his long white hair, especially in its unfamiliar style. He had abandoned his usual tails in shame and mourning the day after the Dragon Guard fell, and now he wore it bound back from his face by a pair of narrow braids that looped below his horns, met at the back of his head, knotted, and then fell in a loose, moonlit cascade past his waist. No one ever teased him about leaving it so long. Every Moonshadow knew that the longer a Dragon Guard’s hair was, the more years they had served at the pleasure of the Dragon King.

Runaan was proud of his long hair.

 _Had been_ proud.

Runaan’s jaw bunched. He remembered the Dragon Queen’s roar as he stabbed his sword into the stone floor before her, snapped it in two with a well placed kick, and cast the top half at her clawed feet. To either side of him, Rayla and the other Dragon Guard trainees knelt, daggers in their right hands, freshly shorn braided white locks in their left. The sparks that rode the queen’s breath nearly electrified Runaan’s horns, but he did not break her gaze. Their pale blue eyes met, dragon to elf, as her lightning played off the high stone arches and lofty metal rods that decorated the heights of the mountaintop Storm Dragon Palace. A whirlwind surrounded Runaan— _only_ Runaan—whipping his loose, long hair into a tangled frenzy. The Dragon Queen _blamed_ him. She _hated_ him. She wanted him _dead_.

He stood immobile amidst her storm, unblinking, unafraid.

_I am already dead._

Runaan tucked away the rest of that memory. Tucked away Rayla’s wide-eyed shakiness. The way Bren whittled his nails down to the quick on the walk home and let them bleed. How Branneg couldn’t stop feeling his shorn hair, as if reaching for a lost limb. How Mayr threw her Dragon Guard emblem into the fire. How Runaan wordlessly ripped his from his shoulder guard and followed suit, and everyone else did the same.

He addressed the New Moon Council. “My hair will not bring back her egg. But my hands will avenge it, or I will gladly sacrifice them. I will go to the Sunfire elves and request the deadliest weapons they have, so that we will not fail when the time comes.”

Sairsha’s horns dipped forward. “When will you leave?”

“As soon as I organize a training regimen. Fergel  was my second at the academy. He will lead them in my absence.” Runaan nodded and turned to go.

Thobar called his name, and he turned back.

“Have you told the others about the binding ribbon yet?”

Runaan looked away. “No.”

“Best not wait. The sooner they know, the more time they have to adjust.”

With a curt nod, Runaan spun on his heel and stalked out. His long hair swished loosely behind him, a constant reminder of his debt, and of his promise.

_Justice will not be denied. I will do my duty._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks after the humans invaded Xadia and slew the Dragon King, Janai brings a white-haired supplicant before the Corona, Queen of the Sunfire elves.
> 
> She is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Janai! I love her. She has a role to play in this story, and it's definitely not staying out of the way. Just try and stop her.

Janai despised her turn on duty at the door to the Corona’s chamber. Her view never changed. Every time, the same view out the window across the hallway from where she stood—glassy black obsidian that stretched all the way to the nearby Breach, where humans guarded both sides of the Firestream. The black glass offered clear line of sight, it was true, but it was not even fit for lizards—except for geckomanders, and they were welcome to it.

But the black stone’s utter sameness prompted Janai’s mind to think. To dwell. She did not enjoy dwelling. Years of training—a lifetime, in many regards—made it easy for Janai to hide her emotions down deep. To invest in silence and simply stand ready.

She relied on that ability more than ever since the humans’ invasion three weeks past.

With her waking eyes, she could still see him—his incandescent figure was etched into her mind, and at night it burned against her eyelids.

Her father had chosen to save the lives of scores of Sunfire elves—including Janai—by sacrificing himself atop a living serpent bridge the dark mage had cast during the invasion. As the human forces swarmed the bridge that spanned the entirety of the Firestream’s molten flow, her father had instructed her to lead the rest of their troops to the Breach, where the humans were pouring across. Before she could agree, he strode out to meet the human forces, his sunforge blade drawn and held at arm’s length, glowing against the dark sky overhead. But instead of engaging the humans in battle, he had dropped to his knees. Before Janai’s disbelieving eyes, he embraced his Sunfire heat-being, lighting molten cracks along his skin. Then he did the unthinkable: he plunged his sunforge blade deep into his abdomen.

The humans staggered to a stop, stunned. Janai remembered her mouth falling open, but she couldn’t call out. Her lungs would not function, like a forge bellows wedged shut.

Her father drew the blade across in one swift cut, and his primal cry of triumph echoed off both sides of the Breach walls, before it simply _ended_. One blinding breath later, the steam of her tears was whisked away in the heat of her father’s sacrifice. The humans’ serpent bridge was destroyed, and over a hundred of their warriors slain.

Her father died a hero.

She had felt like an empty vessel ever since. Everyone knew someone who had fallen. Few had held such high station as her father, though. As was tradition, Janai had been promoted to the Corona’s Forge in his place. There was always one Corona Blade on duty at the door to the queen’s court. And today was her turn.

Something bobbed in the distance outside the window. A pale dot against the shiny black rock. Janai squinted. When she realized what— _who_ —she was looking at, she couldn’t keep the frown from her face.

Using her newly granted, unasked-for rank, she pointed imperiously out the window. “Bring that traitor to the palace gates at once.”

 

***

 

“You are a fool, Moonshadow, for daring to show your milky white face here.” With a firm, sun-dark hand on Runaan’s shoulder, Janai guided him before her down the well-appointed corridor she had been standing in not ten minutes earlier. “You will get your audience with the Corona, but you will not get any sympathy from the Sunfires. We lost many at the border when the humans invaded at winter’s turn. But _you_ lost us the Dragon King _and_ his heir.”

Runaan walked unprotestingly beneath her heavy hand, evidently unintimidated by her irritation. He knew who he had come to see, and Janai had to admit that she found a modicum of respect for the Moonshadow’s restraint in not rising to her taunt. Most Moonshadows were slippery, twisty things, lurking behind anything that would protect them. But the Dragon Guard stood firm, using their powers of concealment only in defense of the greatest hope in Xadia.

Until winter’s turn.

This one had stood tall before her at the palace gates, armed only with a small dagger and a scowl, and stated his case. Deep down, Janai was entertained by the thought of watching the Moonshadow get humiliated. Even deeper down, though, glowed an ember of something she had not felt in the last three weeks, and had not thought to feel again anytime soon. With her recommendation, the Moonshadow was granted an audience.

Janai’s boring duty shift was about to get very interesting. One way or another.

Two Sunfire guards in shining scale armor opened the heavy black basalt doors to the Corona’s chamber. Golden light poured out across Runaan and Janai, bathing them in the warm glow of the Corona’s power, and of the liquid rock that poured down the back wall of the chamber in viscous streams, from basin to pool.

The chamber was broad, with a low, wide dome of open metalwork. Prisms twinkled, singly and in clusters, from the filigreed metal curls overhead, and the morning sunlight broke into rainbows against the red stone walls.

Below the reach of the rainbows, the ruler of the Sunfire elves sat upon her molten throne, skin entirely alight with fervent heat. Her hair fell in bright red dreadlocks beneath an arching golden crown supported by her horns, and her eyes beamed with light. Her throne was flanked by guards, courtiers, and attendants whose lesser glow only enhanced that of their regent.

Janai’s fingers gripped Runaan’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Were you there that day, Moonshadow?” she murmured. “Did you run?”

The Moonshadow tensed beneath her hand as if turning to stone. “If I had been there,” he muttered, “My body would have fallen beside the Dragon King’s.”

Janai lifted her chin at the certainty in his voice. “Ask your boon. But you will not receive it.” She gave Runaan’s shoulder a none-too-gentle nudge into the room. As he stepped forward into the glowing heat of the Corona’s court, Janai took up position inside, near the exit. Unquestioning, the lower-ranked guards outside simply shut the heavy stone doors behind her.

The Moonshadow paced with his back straight as an arrow until he reached the Corona’s throne. He gave her a nod.

A _nod_.

Janai squinted one disbelieving eye. Did he _want_ to be tossed into the Firestream? It would be no great difficulty to drag him across the obsidian plain and hurl his pale hide into the river of lava that separated Xadia from the human kingdoms. The humans who guarded the near side of the Breach would certainly not object.

The Corona was equally unamused. “Dragon Guard. What do you want?” Her voice rippled with bright heat.

Runaan’s right hand flexed. “Corona, the Dragon Guard is no more, by order of the Dragon Queen. She has set judgment on us, to punish any and all responsible for the losses she suffered that day, or offer our hands, and our future, as recompense, for our failure to strike down the enemy. To that end, I have come to ask for the best weapons that Sunfire elves can lend, that we may not fail in our mission, and that justice and honor might be restored.”

The Corona’s eyes slitted, dimming their light. She made a single, swift gesture, and one of her courtiers stepped forward, offering the handle of his sunforge dagger to Runaan. Sensing a hint of threat in the swiftness and strangeness of the offer, Runaan moved a single hand as if to ward off an attack.

The Corona spoke through lips as liquid-bright as sunset on water. “Take it, Faithless. If you truly wish to offer recompense for your failure, take it.”

Behind the Moonshadow, Janai felt her eyes widen in shock. She knew what the Corona asked, even if the Moonshadow did not.

Runaan slowly reached for the dagger’s handle and found it cool enough to grasp, but he still held the blade well away. His body language shouted with tension. Janai wasn’t sure his spine could get any stiffer.

“Now kneel.” The Corona’s voice was molten steel, and her commanding tone had bent— _melted_ —the will of many a Sunfire. To Janai’s surprise, Runaan remained on his feet. “Kneel,” she continued, “and draw that blade through your body. Spill your weak and cowardly blood here before my feet. And then I will consider justice and honor restored.”

Runaan’s fist shook around the sunforge dagger. Well, Janai realized, he knew what the ritual meant _now_. Though half a dozen other Corona Guards stood closer to the queen than Janai, she still gripped her own sword’s handle. Knowing and accepting were two very different things. Her father had done both. But this Moonshadow might have other ideas.

Janai did, too. Her father had sacrificed himself for the living. The Corona demanded that the Moonshadow sacrifice himself for those already dead. She did not know everything about Moonshadow culture, but the white-haired elves of the night were renowned for their affinity for death and spirits. Janai suspected that death by sunforge dagger was not the way to commune with them. She didn’t care for the Corona’s light treatment of her father’s sacrifice, either, and had to smooth a frown from her lips.

The Moonshadow had more mettle than Janai expected. He dropped the dagger, point-first, into the floor, where it melted and stuck. His voice rang like a bell as he said, “With respect, Corona, that is not your decision to make. The Dragon Queen herself has commanded me, and not even you may gainsay her.”

A ringing silence echoed through the rippling heat of the chamber. The Sunfire queen placed her hands on the arms of her molten throne and leaned forward. The light and heat that radiated from her increased in intensity. Janai could feel the Corona’s glow at the back of the room. When the queen opened her mouth to speak, it became a molten cavern.

Janai was frankly surprised that the Moonshadow hadn’t collapsed from heat exhaustion yet. Perhaps his Moon arcanum kept him cool, as the Sun kept her warm.

“And did the Dragon Queen,” the Corona asked very, very slowly, “ _command_ me to supply your mission of ‘justice’ with sunforge blades?”

Runaan’s posture was so stiff, he seemed carved of basalt. “She did not.”

Heat rippled the air surrounding the Corona as she stood from her molten throne. As one, the courtiers and attendants stepped back a pace. The queen stood tall, glorious and radiant. She took one step down from her dais. And then another.

Runaan grunted against the heat she threw off, but he did not step back. Janai was sure she was watching him perform a self-immolation with extra steps. Even her father’s end had been more merciful than this.

The Corona’s blazing eyes set on Runaan. “So you, little Moonshadow, took it upon _yourself_ to strut into my court and demand sunforge blades for your rabble of disgraced failures?” Her laugh was fiery and cruel. “You demand this of _me_ , and yet _you_ offer not even a bow of respect? _Kneel!_ ” Her skin flared like the surface of the sun, roiling with heat, and her voice was the roar of an angry volcano.

Runaan fell to one knee and braced himself with a straining hand. Janai could see him heaving for breath, could spot drops of sweat that fell from his brow and sizzled on the hot basalt floor. Even she needed to concentrate to breathe normally.

The Corona took another step. Janai’s eyes widened. Any closer, and the Moonshadow’s hair would begin to crisp and smoke. Her fingers twitched around the handle of her sword.

But the queen halted. “What’s this? You’ve kept your hair?” Her words bubbled with the curiosity of fresh lava.

Janai blinked. She’d missed something. Alarmed at her failure, she racked her brain for missing details. What little she’d seen of the Dragon Guard had always involved their long white hair. She hadn’t thought to consider that the Corona’s petitioner should look any different today. Her hand firmed on her sword.

“As the Dragon Queen allowed,” Runaan gasped. His supporting arm trembled.

Janai pressed her lips together. The former Dragon Guard really wasn’t doing well over there at the Corona’s feet..

“’Allowed’?” The Corona hummed in mock disappointment. “She did not _command_ this, either? Pity. Perhaps one queen’s oversight is another’s opportunity.” The Corona reached her incandescent hand toward Runaan’s long white hair as it splayed across his back.

Janai took a breath. The mere approach of the Corona’s hand would burn Runaan’s hair off as surely as if she’d sliced it with a sunforge dagger. It would set his clothing aflame and scar his back. If she brushed his tunic with even a fingertip, he could die. Him, and his mission with him.

“Majesty.”

The Corona paused and glanced at Janai, who had surprised herself by speaking.

Janai lifted her chin and gambled, using her new rank as a bargaining chip. “Scouts report sighting Sol Regem in the area. Should he wish audience with you upon his arrival, might Your Majesty consider refraining from perfuming the air with burnt Moonshadow hair?”

The Corona paused, glowing eyes wide, and laughed. A hard, bright laugh, it rang like golden coins in a pouch, jingling with what little worth Runaan held in her sight. “Perhaps you are right, Janai. Take this faithless woodland sprite and throw him out into the cold. After all, that is where he belongs. In the cold and the dark.” Her blazing gaze dropped to the Moonshadow’s hair, and her bright lip curled. “With the _dead_.”

As the Corona turned and retreated to her throne with the stately pace of a lava flow, Janai stalked forward and clapped a hand on Runaan’s shoulder. In one smooth motion, she hauled him to his feet and dragged him out of the chamber. The heated stone doors opened before her with a faint hiss and a warm breeze, and in ten steps, she and Runaan were out in the much cooler corridor.

But she did not stop there. She hooked her fingers around his leather shoulder guard and continued pulling him behind her toward the palace gates.

“I can walk,” Runaan protested, though he sounded faint from the heat.

As he tried to pry her hand free, she evoked her heat-being and let it crack her skin, and his fingers flinched away.

In the courtyard of the palace, Janai shoved Runaan beneath the glowing portcullis that guarded the exit and marched him out the gate herself, hand on his shoulder once again. Once beyond the range of the guards’ ears, she spun him back to face her. For the first time, she paused and studied his face.

A cold fire of purpose burned in his eyes, but he looked exhausted, as if he had traveled nonstop for days to reach the Corona’s palace. He also looked like he might drop of heat stroke. Strands of white hair clung to his temples and neck, and his skin was too flushed. The blue markings across the bridge of his nose appeared like purple bruises against his hot skin.

Janai frowned. She had seen better looking corpses. “I told you that you would receive nothing here.”

He merely looked at her. He was an elf with nowhere else to turn, except to death.

She softened. That had been her father’s position, too. She would not un-choose her father’s choice, but this Moonshadow deserved to make his own decisions.

As did she. “There is a stream to the left of the path. You will need it on your way to the village.”

Runaan’s pale eyebrows lowered. “Village?”

Janai moved only her eyes as she looked past Runaan’s right horn. “Follow the stream over the first hill, away from the obsidian fields. You will see it on your right. Ask for the tinker. Tell him Janai sent you.”

“Tinker? I need weapons, not shoes and jewelry.”

Janai pressed her lips together to contain her impatience. The Moonshadow didn’t know any better. “We are Sunfire. If you cannot make a sunforge blade, you are a tinker. No matter how good your weaponsmithing skills are.”

Runaan’s brows lifted with comprehension. “Thank you. You were under no obligation to help me back there. I owe you a debt. I should have been more politic today. Since winter’s turn, I have not been…”

Janai waved away his explanation with a brown hand. “None of us have. Go find your tinker. He will help.”

He started to turn, then hesitated. “You’re certain? My welcome here has thus far been a little _too_ warm.”

“He _will_ help you.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason I am helping you, Moonshadow. Go drink from the stream before you collapse. The Corona will turn your corpse into charcoal if she spots you lurking.”

Runaan drew himself up. “I do not lurk.”

“You are Moonshadow. You _always_ lurk.” Janai gave him a flat look and turned away.

Behind her, she heard the light step of the Moonshadow retreat down the lava-rock path. By the time she reached her post at the Corona’s court doors again, her heart felt lighter than it had since the invasion. She could not see the Moonshadow’s pale hair from where she stood, but she knew where he was going. She flicked her eyes to the hill where the tinker’s village perched.

She owed the tinker no allegiance. Perhaps he would even resent her for sending the Moonshadow to his door—or resent the Moonshadow himself, as the Corona had. But Janai would have justice for her father’s sacrifice, and if the Moonshadow and the tinker could deliver it for her, then she would have to be content with that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan has had a bad morning thus far, and the Dragon Queen's directive weighs on him. Will he find the help he needs at the village at the base of the cliff?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Runaan and the tinker's meet-cute. They meet. It's cute. With just a hint of stabby.
> 
> 3.11.19 Wrote another 4k today! I seem to be going chronologically, even though the story will alternate between past and present. So I guess I will have to write out all of the backstory with Runaan and the tinker before I get to the present plot. Once I do that, though, you'll probably be getting two chapters at a time. Hang tight! I literally made myself cry with one scene I wrote today, so I hope you guys are prepared.

Runaan had done more than simply drink at the stream. He’d stripped off his tunic, vest, and shirt and, with his toes still on shore, lowered his torso, pushup-style, under the burbling water. Holding his breath, Runaan let the icy bite of the winter stream smooth its way past his pale skin, drawing out the Corona’s intense heat. As the current tugged gently at his long white hair, wafting a lock across his eyes, Runaan closed them and settled into a cool, dark place in his mind.

A cave on the western side of a mountain near his home had offered sometime contemplation. When he was stationed on rotation at the academy, he liked to sit there and watch the moon rise, day or night, over the next charcoal gray crag. At such moments, there was nothing but the moon, the air, the stone, and his arcanum. That was all he needed to feel content.

_Right and wrong. Moonlight and shadow. Life and death. I need nothing else._

Runaan let the liquid touch of the stream chill him until he could hold his breath no longer. With a gasp, he lifted his head above the water just enough to draw a deep breath in through his nose. He paused with only his nose and eyes showing, like a hippuffalo, and smiled underwater. _Perhaps I do lurk, after all._ Feeling cool and shadowy again, Runaan drank his fill from the stream. Then he munched on the last orange in his pack while the sun dried his hair. Its touch was warm and gentle, unlike the Corona. Runaan’s skin shivered at the memory of the Sunfire regent’s hot rage.

Feeling more himself than he had in a couple of days, Runaan dressed again and followed the laughing stream up the nearby hill. Atop it, he saw the village Janai had told him about. It sat on the far side of a small lake from which the stream descended. Nestled within a stone wall near the base of sheer, dark basalt cliffs, the gently sloping village nevertheless looked cozy rather than cramped. Small waterfalls tumbled down the cliff face, and Runaan was cheered to see a few trees rising from among the buildings, too.

_It’s no Moonshadow village, but it will do._

 The village’s metal gates lay open, and a neat collection of brick-sided homes with deep red roof tiles spread before him. Runaan passed inside and shared a nod of acknowledgement with a lazy gatekeeper who merely looked him up and down and went back to eating her fried meatstick.

The aroma of her food was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. Runaan’s stomach growled. That orange had been the last of his food.

A short while later, he was licking juices from his fingers after polishing off his third fried turducken wing. Moonshadow repasts didn’t feature cooked meat, preferring it raw and freshly killed, but he’d gotten used to the taste during his stints at the Storm Dragon Palace, where all cultures were exchanged, and so was their food. He’d asked for directions to the tinker’s dwelling on three different corners, and gotten “ _A_ tinker, or _the_ tinker?” each time.

“ _The_ tinker, I suppose,” he’d replied. If Janai had indeed intended to help him, surely she’d have sent him to a tinker with a certain level of repute.

The answers were always the same. “Oh, just head toward the cliff. Can’t miss it!”

Runaan was pretty sure he _could_ miss it. Whatever _it_ was.

Until he saw it. _It_ was, indeed, unmissable.

A sprawling plot of land, bounded only by ambling alleys cobbled with perfectly aligned brickwork, came into view as Runaan turned a corner. Trees of all sorts clustered here and there on the property. Though many didn’t have their spring leaves yet, Runaan recognized ash and birch, towering elm and twisty oak. Fruit trees, low and broad, sprouted closest to him at the edge of the brick road, as if planted specifically to be enjoyed by passersby. Further along the property’s near edge, the road lifted over the gentle arch of a bridge, complete with delicately curving metal railings. Runaan could just make out the soft trickle of water.

Sturdy vines trailed their way up a wind vane near the bridge. Its metal vanes winked in the sunlight as a gentle breeze trailed its fingers through them. Arbored vines and shrubbery grew in neat clusters all around the central dwelling, giving the place a sculpted, practical feel. This land had been _designed_. A neat brickwork walkway, each brick outlined delicately with bright green moss, led from the street to the structure.

Runaan turned his attention to it, nestled among the greenery as it was. The building on the right was small, likely a home, tiled with a deep red roof and sturdy, earthen walls. A short passage connected it to a larger building with an angled roof, near the stream. Large, arched windows supported the higher side of the roof, letting in light and air. Lower windows on both structures bore broad arches and fine shutters of metal enameled with bright colors that winked in the light. The tinker’s workshop, no doubt.

In fact, everywhere Runaan looked, the property twinkled and glinted with tiny sparks of light and color. The windmill’s vanes held a strange, shimmering gloss that gleamed like mother-of-pearl. Garlands of cut stones winked in the window frames as they shifted with the breeze. And numerous tree branches dangled bird feeders, prisms, or decorative metal curls that spun the light and glittered like a rainbow spray at the base of a waterfall.

Runaan felt a soft smile lift the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t encountered a spot on his journey to the Corona’s court that had nourished his soul as this one did. And after the dangerous rejection he’d received at the Corona’s hands, he needed it.

With a deep breath, Runaan stepped onto the brick path. Tiny bluebirds and scurrying voles darted away from his soft footfalls as he approached the door to the workshop. There was no path to the little house. There wasn’t even a worn pattern in the grass. Though the hue of the dark blue door to the house reminded Runaan of pleasant nights in the wood, it looked painted shut.

In contrast, the workshop door was painted an inviting range of warm tones. They evoked an open flame so strongly that Runaan imagined he felt heat radiating from it. It was also ajar, so he pushed his way inside.

The room that met his eyes was a fascinating collection of barely harnessed chaos bathed in bright, clear light from the high windows. Heat—actual heat rather than a clever paint job—radiated from the back left of the room, where a forge glowed with fervent orange light through a narrow slit that resembled a Sun titan’s toothless grin. A small family of anvils seemed to have grazed their way into the workshop, for all the sense their placement made. A small jar of resting moonflies perched on the handle of a circular whetstone, as if the stone carried a lantern for the anvils to see better, and quenching buckets attended them like loyal maids.

The workshop’s furthest walls bore tools that must have made some kind of sense to the elf who had organized it, but Runaan couldn’t suss it. Long-handled pliers, poles, little nippers, flat paddles, and odd-handled devices Runaan couldn’t guess at genially warred for space on the stone-tiled walls.

Various bladed weapons both practical and decorative rested on racks that were, again, spaced seemingly at random. Runaan, having left his broken sword at home, found his eyes lingering on the tinker’s sword collection.

Scattered throughout the large room, but in larger quantity closer to the front door, small tables and cubby collections held sparkly stones and bits of metal in more colors than Runaan had ever seen. His eyes leaped from racks of jeweled horntips to light-catchers made of silver spirals to bracelets to battle-ready horn guards like the one Janai had worn.

He was so caught up in the workshop’s sights that he managed to miss the elf in the near corner of the room until he spoke.

“Help you?” came his clear voice.

Runaan’s turquoise eyes flicked to the wiry figure, who stood in profile, a few inches shorter than Runaan. He’d seen Runaan’s shadow cross the threshold and hadn’t needed to look up from his task. His skin was the color of a rich clay bed Runaan had seen along a river once, light brown with a warm reddish undertone, and his cheek bore the smooth, curving briars of the Earthblood tribe, but in a gleaming golden-green Runaan hadn’t seen before. His sturdy shoulders flexed gently as he used a clean paintbrush to coax little gems into a pile on a work surface, and the ripple of his muscles made the peridot-green circles on his shoulders flex and dance. The contrast of his markings with his skin was dazzling, and Runaan let his eyes linger a moment.

The elf’s horns grew too low and sinuous to reflect a Sunfire profile—though their angle rose higher than Runaan’s own—and they were so deep a green that they nearly appeared black. Their length indicated that he was as old as Runaan, or nearly so. Bright horntips of gleaming gold covered the ends, and rings of polished malachite embraced them in pleasing symmetry. His sleeveless brown work shirt and tan trousers were a bit muted for standard Sunfire attire, and the sturdy leather forge-sleeves he wore on his forearms were a serviceable brown, but the bright red scarf he wore around his neck made up for their soft hues.

The sure movements of his long, slender fingers, paired with the obvious strength he’d gained from working at his forge, gave him an air of powerful grace. Every move he made was beautiful.

 _He_ was beautiful.

Runaan’s voice came out softer than he intended. “I’m looking for the one they call the tinker.”

The elf’s businesslike manner evaporated, and he turned in surprise at the sound of Runaan’s Moonshadow accent. Runaan felt the full focus of his tawny-eyed curiosity as he looked Runaan up and down. “You found him.” The tinker’s wry smile was accompanied by a reassuring patience, as if he often got visitors who assumed he was merely some assistant to a full-blooded Sunfire.

With a few more words spoken, Runaan picked out his Sunfire accent. Yet the tinker was clearly of two tribes. Runaan’s eyes insisted on tracing the tinker’s high cheekbones, pale red eyebrows, and strong chin. “So I have.” Again, his voice came out softly.

“Then I am at your service.” A lazy smile entered the tinker’s voice. He swept a palmful of gems into his hand and eased toward Runaan with a graceful gait. A soft metallic noise emanated from his right foot with each step. Runaan’s gaze dropped. Held.

A metal calf and foot protruded from the tinker’s right trouser leg, gleaming bronze and gold with green tracings. It, too, was beautiful, a masterful creation that didn’t disrupt the tinker’s gait in the slightest and spoke to his crafting skill. Runaan pulled his gaze away and focused on the tinker’s face. “I need weaponry.”

The tinker tilted his head to the side just a little, studying Runaan with softly upturned lips. Then he sighed, stepped to his right, and tilted his palm, letting the tiny, winking gems tumble into a small box atop another work surface. He gave Runaan a side-eye as he did so, viewing the Moonshadow in profile, and his smile faded. When he returned his full attention to his visitor, his warmth and charm had hardened to something brittle and dangerous.

“I can make you any weapons you want, Moonshadow. That’s the easy part. The hard part, _Dragon Guard,_ is trusting that you’ll know what to do with them. How do I know you won’t run away again? Abandon all my hard work at the feet of your enemy? Leave the innocent to be slaughtered?”

Runaan’s eyes widened at the soft steel that girded the tinker’s words. He hadn’t raised his voice, but Runaan could feel the sharp blade of the tinker’s anger at his throat. He opened his mouth to explain, once again, that the Dragon Guard had been disbanded—

The tinker wasn’t interested in explanations. With one powerful hand, he reached right around Runaan and grabbed his long, loose hair in a fist near the nape of his neck. Pulled it tight behind Runaan’s shoulder until it tugged at the Moonshadow’s head. His honey-colored eyes stabbed at Runaan’s blue ones, edged with emotions that made his voice tremble.

“How dare you walk in here with this hair? How _dare_ you? You want people to think you’re proud of your betrayal? Is that it? You’re fine with flouting everything the Dragon Guard has ever stood for? Your loyalty, your dedication to justice? I know a good look when I see one, pretty boy, and treason is _not_ a good look. You ever think about anyone but yourself? You ever wonder, ‘Gee, other people lost loved ones in the human invasion, maybe I shouldn’t prance around like a human collaborator and rub their loss in their faces with my long, glorious locks of betrayal? No? I should take a knife to your hair right now. Might slip in my hand. Some Xadians would call _that_ justice.”

The tinker’s fury washed over Runaan, a heat wave fanned from crackling embers of grief, leaving him breathless. In that moment, Runaan understood why the Dragon Queen had not demanded that he cut off his long hair.

He was the senior member of the former Dragon Guard, and he bore more responsibility than the rest for the actions of their traitorous cohort. The queen had known what everyone would think upon seeing Runaan’s white hair intact. She had _wanted_ him to feel their wrath.

She wanted Runaan to feel their _suffering_.

Runaan’s cheek twitched. She had sent him out to be tortured by everyone who saw him. _Moonlight save me from the ways of dragons._

The man before him was suffering. Runaan read his pain in the lines around his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, in the way he leaned forward not just to threaten, but because he _hurt_. The Dragon Guard had abandoned their post, and someone dear to this elf, this _particular_ elf before him, this elf all up in his _face_ , had died because of it. Runaan’s mission might restore the Dragon Guard’s honor, but no feat of Moonshadow justice could bring back the dead.

Runaan’s mouth fell open, but he had no words to express his sorrow for the tinker’s loss. No way to express his grief that his sister’s actions had led to so much tragedy. So he did the only thing he could. Slowly, keeping eye contact with the angry tinker, he drew his dagger from its sheath on his hip. Its gleam distracted the tinker from Runaan’s face, and the shorter elf squinted warily as Runaan slowly lifted the blade to his own hair, just above the tinker’s tight grasp.

Their eyes locked again. Runaan had rarely been so close to someone with a bare blade in his hand while _not_ trying to stab them. The air felt charged with lightning, and every feature of the tinker’s intense expression etched itself into his mind. Runaan pressed the dagger against his long white hair and felt the first strand give way.

The tinker’s warm grip clamped onto his wrist like a vise. His tone lost its heat, but not its urgency. “No, stop.”

The dagger glinted in the light. Runaan’s eyebrows lowered as his eyes sought explanation for the tinker’s change of heart.

The tinker released Runaan’s hair and plucked the dagger from his hand. “Forgive me.” He stepped back and offered the dagger, handle first. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Runaan accepted his dagger and slid it into its sheath. Echoes of the tinker’s pain rang in his chest, and he couldn’t quite find his equilibrium. “You had every right.” He smoothed his hair back and found three freshly cut loose strands tangling around his fingers. Looking down, he wound them around his finger and tucked the curls into his belt. “I should go. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” Raising his chin, he turned to leave. A twist of despair tightened in his belly. _Rayla… How will I protect her now?_

He heard a reluctant sigh behind him. “Wait.”

Runaan hesitated in the doorway and turned his head until an ear faced back toward the tinker.

“I know what it’s like to be misjudged. I’m usually better at this kind of thing, I swear. But…” The tinker rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I want to. And I want to give _you_ the chance to explain. That’s only fair.”

Runaan turned fully, silhouetted against the wide blue sky. “Fairness is in short supply at the moment. If you’re willing to listen, I do have a request. And,” he added ruefully, “if it’s not to your liking, I suppose you can always hold me in front of your forge until I collapse.”

The tinker blinked. “That seems a little extreme.”

Runaan’s eyebrows dipped. “The Corona didn’t seem to think so.”

The tinker’s jaw fell open, but he closed it without comment. “Would you like something to drink?”

Runaan felt something warm uncurl in his chest at the tinker’s simple offer. “I could use it after the morning I’ve had.”

With a wry smile, the tinker waved Runaan further into his shop, and Runaan followed the soft metal clink of his right foot to a table and a couple of chairs hidden around the edge of a low wall. The tinker poured a cup of cider and handed it to Runaan, then poured himself one, too.

“What’s your name, Moonshadow?”

“Runaan. Formerly of the Dragon Guard, currently on a mission of justice for the Dragon Queen. Janai sent me here from the Corona’s palace.”

The tinker’s eyes flared with interest, and a bright, clear laugh escaped his lips. It prickled Runaan’s skin like a warm wind. “You really should’ve led with that. There would have been a lot less barber shop drama up in here.” He mimed cutting Runaan’s hair with two fingers. “Janai really sent you?”

“She seemed confident in your abilities. And your willingness to help.”

The tinker seemed to grow a full inch. “She honors me more than I deserve.”

“Not if you’re as good as she says you are.” Runaan let his horns dip forward in a tired nod. “What’s your name, Sun-blood?”

“My name is Kuta.” His smile was as bright as the moon. “Tell me more about your mission.”

 

_“Yes, my shade. That’s how it happened. I remember. Stay with me now. Stay.”_

 

***

 

The cosmos eased forward, pulling the Star out of place. Deep blues and purples swirled in the black, and pinpoints of brilliance slowly winked, spun past, and floated wide.

Light swirled into order. Sky and earth separated, and the sun set itself in its course overhead. The moment was set. The Star embraced the coming truth, letting its cool certainty slide across the darkness and press its edge against the light.

And the truth mirrored its own sensation. Darkness spread across the earth as a shadow rushed forward, sheltering forests, lakes, and hills under its cool arch. The sun thinned to a crescent, flaring all the brighter for its further position.

 _Eclipse_.

The Star sighed in contentment, engulfed in truth as a dolphin is embraced by the sea.

The cosmos pressed the Star back into place. But its truth remained.

The Star eased back into his body, sitting quietly in the library.

Star Touch. Archmage. Lodestar.

Worldbreaker. _Al-Jadi_. Bane of Xadia.

Aaravos opened his golden eyes. The _knowing_ of the coming eclipse settled into his bones and shivered in his horns.

_Patience. Patience. This prison will not hold me forever._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the current timeline, Ezran and Corvus have returned to Katolis Castle and found things pretty chaotic. But not all is lost, and Ezran finds a gleam of hope that he can finally figure out what happened the night he, Callum, and Rayla fled the castle over three weeks ago.

“Has Claudia said anything yet?” Ezran asked hopefully. He sat on his father’s throne because Opeli had told him it was what the others would expect, but he felt a little silly there since his feet couldn’t touch the floor. At least he had Bait with him. The glow toad was his usual yellow with blue spots, content to sit right next to Ezran as if they were co-rulers of Katolis. They both eyed the man at the foot of the royal dais.

“Not yet, Majesty.” Corvus dipped his head in apology. The rangy, dark-skinned tracker wore an expression of chagrin under his stubble. “She’s still adamant that her father did nothing wrong, and that you—and we—are gravely misunderstanding his motives.”

“I’d really like that to be true. But there was the whole ‘zapping all the Crownguards’ thing, so…” Ezran shot Corvus another hopeful look. “Has Lord Viren said anything about why he would do such a thing?”

Corvus shook his head, and his impressive poof of a ponytail eclipsed itself from side to side behind his head. Ezran briefly wondered if he should adopt the hairstyle for his own natural hair. “He hasn’t said a word to anyone. He’s not eating, either.”

Ezran leaned back in surprise. “What? That’s not good. Why on earth would anyone not want to eat? Food is amazing. Maybe someone he knows should try to get him to eat. Do you think it would be safe to let Claudia try?”

In response, Corvus waggled his fingers, miming casting a spell.

Ezran’s face fell. “Oh. I suppose not. Let’s ask Soren, then. And I guess you’ll have to guard him. I don’t like the fact that we had to confine them to their quarters. I know they love their dad and want to support him, but what he did was wrong. I wish I could help them understand that.”

Corvus smiled softly. “My king, every good ruler wishes they could convince those who oppose them of the truth they see. Understanding is the key to peace.”

“Thanks, Corvus. Go see if you can get Lord Viren to eat.”

Corvus thumped his fist over his heart and bowed. He retreated to do the young king’s bidding.

Ezran glanced out into the hallway as Corvus opened the doors. No one else was waiting to come in, so he hopped off the throne and darted around to the back. “Keep watch, Bait!” he whispered.

Bait shifted over until he sat in the center of the throne. His round little head rose regally, and his eyes gleamed. He even turned a little orange, entirely pleased with himself.

Behind the throne, Ezran had hidden Pip’s perch. The beautiful green bird sat peaceably with its head cocked as if listening. Ezran tucked his hands behind his back nervously and pressed his lips together as he studied the bird.

“How’d I do, Dad?” he asked.

King Harrow’s voice spoke into his mind, softly but clearly. _You did great, Ezran. I’m so proud of you._

Ezran fidgeted with his fingers. “I wish I knew how to help you. I’m going to find a way.”

_I’m just happy that you and I can talk. Viren’s study was pretty lonely._

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

_I wish I could. I have to suspect that dark magic was involved. But until I get my memories back of that terrible night—and that’s honestly not something I’m looking forward to—I can’t prove whether Viren had something to do with it._

“Maybe it’s just as well that he’s locked up where no one can do what he says,” Ezran said thoughtfully.

Pip cocked its head and eyed him. _Viren’s a complicated man, Son. For all I know, he acted to protect me from the Moonshadow assassins in the only way he knew how.. And if he did, then… I can understand that. Without this magic, I would be dead. And I’d never get to speak to you again._

Ezran scratched his head. “But you’re in a bird, Dad. That’s just weird. There has to be some way to get you back out.”

_You and Corvus will find it. Amaya trusts him implicitly, and so do I._

Ezran fidgeted again. “Do you know of any other dark mages besides Lord Viren and Claudia, Dad?”

Pip’s head stilled. _Why would you ask that?_

“Well, it’s just, I found Lord Viren’s secret dungeon, and—”

 _His secret_ what _now?_

“—and there’s all this magic stuff down there, and I don’t want to touch any of it, but Lord Viren’s not talking, and Claudia’s taking his side. I mean, she loves her dad too, so… I guess I can understand. But without her help, there’s no way we can, you know, see if he has a handy dandy thingamajiggy for freeing kings from birds. The guards refuse to go back down there, and I’m stuck in this room all day telling adults what to do—sorry, Dad, I don’t mean to make your job seem boring. But I keep thinking that there must be a way to help you, and it’s in that room with a bunch of scary other stuff that could hurt us if we use it wrong.”

A long moment passed before Pip blinked. _Is Commander Gren recovering from his ordeal?_

Ezran recalled the look of unbridled joy on the sandy-haired commander’s face when the boy king had hopped down the dungeon steps and found him chained to the wall. “Yeah, he’s pretty upbeat, actually. Keeps going on and on about how he loves food. And he slept for a whole day. I’m going to talk to him today, once he wakes up, and see if he knows anything that can help us free you.”

Harrow’s voice was gentle in Ezran’s mind. _It’s okay if you never do, Ezran. I want you to know that. Sure, it was great having arms and being able to reach the top shelf, but as long as I have you, I’m content. And besides, now I can fly to the top shelf._

Ezran chuckled. “Dad, you’re hilarious. I’m glad we found each other again. Hungry?”

 _Famished_.

Ezran pulled a palmful of prime birdseed from his pocket and carefully poured it into a little bowl attached to Pip’s perch.

_Aww, yess, that’s the good stuff. You spoil me, Son._

In the distance, he heard the heavy doors open.

“Uh oh. Duty calls, Dad. Gotta go.”

 _I’m right here if you need me._ Harrow’s mental voice was unmuffled as the bird stuffed its cheeks with seeds.

Ezran straightened his tunic and stepped out from behind the throne. Opeli swept up the central carpet, pale robes wafting in her own breeze. Her council diadem gleamed on her forehead, holding her blond hair in back from her face so it could rest against her shoulders. “King Ezran. Good morning. Has Commander Gren spoken to you yet?”

“Oof, wait, hold on. I gotta…” Ezran tried to throw a knee up onto the throne, but Bait was right in his way. “Bait, scoot over.” Reluctantly, the glow toad ooched to his right. Ezran clambered up into his throne and turned around, dangling his legs. He took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing his shoulders and putting on his King Face. “Not yet, Opeli.”

“May I stay and listen to his report, Majesty? I’m gathering evidence against Lord Viren, and I think Gren may have a lot to add to my list.”

Ezran considered. “I guess so. I mean, it’ll be easier on him if he only has to tell his story once, right?”

Opeli rubbed her temple. “A fair point, Majesty. How like your mother you are, to think of others’ needs.”

“Did you know my mom well?”

Opeli glanced down with a little smile. “We were allies more than friends, but yes, I like to think that I knew her well. She was a powerful woman, and a strong queen. I see her in you, as I see your father.”

Ezran’s gaze flickered toward Pip’s hiding place, then returned to Opeli’s face. “That means a lot.”

Opeli covered her mouth as she suddenly yawned. “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon! I don’t mean to imply that you’re boring me in any way! I just… I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“It’s been pretty stressful around here for a while. I bet you’re not alone. Though I can recommend a glow toad as a nice night light if you need one.”

“Thank you, my king. I don’t think a glow toad is going to help me have better dreams, though.”

“Oh. Do you have nightmares? I get those sometimes.” Ezran’s face clouded. “You know. Bad stuff gets in, and it can take a while to get back out.”

Opeli’s blond eyebrows rose, but she offered a small smile. “That’s well put, Majesty. I wouldn’t call my dreams nightmares, though. They were just… odd. And loud. They kept waking me up.”

Intrigued, Ezran propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his hand. “Loud?”

Opeli frowned and looked aside, a little embarrassed. “A voice kept talking to me. I think I need to lay off the cheese sandwiches before I go to bed.” Opeli tried to laugh off her situation, but Ezran could see that it worried her.

She might be a member of the High Council, but she was still a person, and she was tired and confused. And if there was one thing Ezran was really, _really_ good at, it was listening. He sat up straight again and did his best to seem kingly. “Tell me everything,” he commanded magnanimously. “Your concerns are my concerns.”

Opeli hesitated, surprised, before remembering to whom she was speaking. “Of course, Majesty. I had three dreams, each one the same. I dreamed that I was walking in a garden, and a voice spoke to me. I looked, but couldn’t see who it was. The garden seemed empty. And the voice asked me a question.”

“What question?”

“Did I know where to find the creature with the voice of lightning?”

Ezran’s dark brows pulled together sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I honestly didn’t know, and I said so, three times. And each time, I woke up with a jolt. I lit a lamp because I felt like I was being watched, but each time, I was alone. I apologize for my sleepiness, Majesty. I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

“Rest is very important,” Ezran agreed. “But, tell me if you have these dreams again.”

Opeli’s pale eyebrows rose at his concern “I will, Majesty,” she said mildly.

The door to the chamber opened again, and Corvus shepherded Commander Gren inside. Corvus kept a hand on Gren’s shoulder as they approached, and Ezran overheard him say, “I’m just glad you’re okay, man.”

Commander Gren replied, “I have a new appreciation for scrambled eggs, I’m telling you. Their fluffy goodness is very nearly magical.”

Opeli swooped to the side of Ezran’s throne and let the two approach. In concert, they put their fists over their hearts and bowed.

“Soren is being escorted to his father’s cell to try to convince him to eat, my king. I hope he succeeds.”

“Good work, Corvus.”

“Thank you once again, my king, for saving my life,” Gren enthused. “That dungeon was really dark and scary. And it was really hungry down there. Food is amazing, isn’t it?”

Ezran chuckled. “It sure is. It’s nice to see that being locked up hasn’t made you sad, Commander. Sometimes it’s hard to keep being brave. But you’re stronger than your fear, and I’m proud of you.”

Gren blinked and beamed as if Ezran had given him the highest compliment of his life. He bowed again, and his sandy hair flopped forward. “Your Majesty is too kind.”

“Will you tell us what you saw?” Ezran asked. Opeli and Corvus shifted attentively.

Gren nodded right away, but a minute passed before he spoke. “It all started when General Amaya assigned me to the mission of retrieving you and Callum from the assassin who kidnapped you.”

Ezran waved an urgent little hand to stop him there. “Oh, she didn’t kidnap us. Sorry. Someone should have told you that. She’s a friend, and she’s very sorry for the misunderstanding about my dad.”

Gren’s blue eyes widened with each word Ezran uttered. “O-okay, wow, that’s a lot. But, okay then. No, that’s good news. Ahem. Lord Viren took me off the mission and had his daughter lock me in his dungeon, where you found me.”

“ _Claudia_ locked you up?” Corvus blurted.

“In her defense,” Gren offered, “she was very apologetic about it. And she even complimented my freckles, which she was under absolutely no obligation to do.” He flushed prettily.

Opeli jotted ostentatiously in a notebook.

“Are you writing down that Claudia complimented his freckles?” Ezran asked.

Opeli’s lips puckered as she tried not to smile. “No, my king.”

“Oh. So, Commander, I found you next to the stairs. Could you see Lord Viren coming and going?” Ezran prompted.

“Yes, my king. He came down regularly. And Claudia was there sometimes. But never Soren. The two of them visited someone who was already imprisoned when I was taken down there.”

“We didn’t find anyone else down there,” Corvus said worriedly.

“No. You wouldn’t.” Gren paused and swallowed hard. “He was down a corridor opposite me. Claudia went in to see him a couple of times, but after that, only Viren went in.”

“Who was it? Why wouldn’t we have found him in his cell? What happened?” Ezran picked Bait up and set him on his lap, holding him like a talisman against whatever Gren was about to say next.

Gren let out a short, heavy sigh. “I never heard his name. He barely said anything. And he wouldn’t eat. I would have been happy to assist Lord Viren in taking care of those Xadian fruits he brought for the other prisoner once he wouldn’t eat them. But, well, I guess Viren already had other plans for them.” Gren sighed wistfully, and his expression became serious again. “Lord Viren, he cast some terrible spell on the prisoner one day. I… I heard him crying out. And then his voice just… stopped.” He steadied his breathing before continuing. “I would’ve rushed in and helped him, no matter who he was—whatever was happening, it sounded terrifying. I still think about what Lord Viren showed me afterward.” He shuddered.

Opeli’s pen and notebook hung loose in her grasp, forgotten. “What did he show you?”

“A coin.”

“A coin?” Corvus repeated.

Gren nodded. He’d gone pale under his freckles. “A coin with a living face.”

Ezran gasped. In his arms, Bait squeaked. “What does that mean?”

Gren lowered his chin. “Whatever Lord Viren did to that prisoner, it ended with him trapped inside that coin somehow. He was alive in there, and he was afraid. And the way Lord Viren talked, I think he had more of them.”

Corvus ran a hand over his dark stubble. “Nothing like that was found on him when he was arrested, was it, Opeli?”

The councilor shook her head.

Corvus looked back at Gren and continued, “Do you know where he put those coins? Or who he trapped in them?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t.”

“Wait, go back,” Ezran prompted. “ _Xadian_ fruits? And what do you mean ‘no matter who he was’?”

Gren tapped a finger against his lips. “I could hear some of the words that echoed down the hallway. I could be wrong—acoustics are such a complex construct—but I think I heard Lord Viren call the prisoner a Moonshadow elf.”

Ezran gasped again. “One of Rayla’s friends.” Rayla had worried sometimes about the others, whether they’d gotten away or perished, despite seeing the shadowhawk message Runaan had sent overhead the night they fled the castle. Considering how Rayla talked about their skills and their dedication to their mission, Ezran hadn’t really considered a third option. He hadn’t ever met four of her friends, but he remembered the tall elf Rayla had tried to dissuade from their mission on the battlements after Ezran had shown everyone the egg of the Dragon Prince. He’d been leading the assassins to the castle. And Ezran had learned enough battle tactics to know that if you’re going to keep anyone alive among the enemy, it’s the leader. He has all the answers.

Rayla had told the brothers about her intense Uncle Runaan on their travels, and Ezran had been really torn about how to feel. Rayla loved her uncle. But Ezran had spent most of the journey back to Katolis believing that Runaan had assassinated Ezran’s dad. Until Pip flew into camp one morning as Corvus was out hunting for some breakfast a day’s walk from the castle. Hearing his father’s voice again had made Ezran cry with astonished happiness.

Now, Ezran really didn’t know what to think at all, except that the elf in Viren’s prison couldn’t have killed his dad—not really—and that getting trapped inside a coin seemed pretty horrible. He addressed Gren. “Did the elf have a couple of blue stripes across his nose?”

Gren frowned in remembrance. “They might have been blue. It was hard to tell on the coin. Viren held it up close for me to see. He said I might like a better look at his handiwork. I’m mostly sure he was just taunting me, though. Then he said he needed to go have a glow-up. And really, he needed it. His skin had gone all gray and everything. Even his eyes!”

Ezran was only half listening. “We need to find that coin.”

“It will prove Viren’s a monster,” Opeli said. “Moonshadow assassins are terrible, but putting people into coins? What if some of them are humans?”

“No, you don’t get it,” Ezran said, and everyone immediately quieted. “If there is someone in that coin, and if it’s a _Moonshadow_ _elf_ , and if it’s the _particular_ Moonshadow elf I _think_ it is, then he might be the only one who can tell us what happened the night my dad was… attacked.” Ezran shot a careful glance at Corvus, who nodded very slightly. He and Corvus had decided that it was safer to keep Harrow’s secret for now, until they could find a way to free him from Pip’s body. The last think Ezran wanted was for someone else to try to hurt his dad, and even though Pip could fly, he was a lot smaller and weaker than a human. Keeping his dad’s secret could save his life.

Corvus shook his fluffy ponytail. “Moonshadows are stubborn.”

Ezran snorted. “I’ve noticed.”

Corvus continued, “He’s not going to talk to _us_ if _Viren_ couldn’t get him to talk.”

“He might,” Ezran said. “If we ask nicely. And I mean, like, _actually_ nicely.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Rayla says dark magic is terrible. And I believe her. But I _need_ to know exactly what happened to my dad. It’s the only way to know who’s innocent and who’s guilty. It’s the only way to know who I can trust.” _Who my dad can trust_. “Corvus, begin a search for any dark mage who’s willing to come help us look for the coin Gren saw and to sort through the things in that dungeon and tell us what they are. But, you know, it sure would be handy to figure this out without using _dark_ magic. So if your men run across any elves while they’re out looking, I want them to ask for their help, too. _Nicely_.”

 

***

 

Corvus organized some of the surviving Crownguards into groups of four and ordered them to scour the nearby villages for dark mages, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Part of him also hoped they would straight-up fail. After what Viren had done, Corvus had no desire to invite yet another dark mage into Katolis Castle and ask them to pick up where Viren left off. The young king had his heart in the right place, but his head was still a little too close to the ground.

As the last quartet of mounted Crownguards thundered across the castle bridge in search of a dark mage, Corvus turned and headed for the rookery, located in the top of one of the castle towers.

The Crow Master was so busy feeding his little charges, he didn’t hear him come in. So when the young man turned and saw Corvus sitting silently at the desk, penning a letter, he squawked in surprise. “Crow Lord, I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in!”

Corvus rolled his eyes up at him. “Stop calling me that. I told you before, I’m still on vacation. The crows are yours to manage. I’m not here to take your job away.”

Crow Master nodded his upswept black hair eagerly. Then he leaned a black-nailed hand on the desk and tried on an inquisitive look heavy on the sass. “So… does that mean I can tell you to get out of my chair?”

Corvus didn’t even look up. “Nope.”

“Cool cool.” He sloped away with a wary glance back.

Corvus finished writing his perfectly ordinary letter, sanded the ink, and then reached into a hidden drawer on his desk. He withdrew a small vial of pale blue ink and began to write a second note between the lines of black ink.

 

_General,_

_The Tart-eater has returned home. His father’s fate is not as final as we were led to believe. Poppycock stands accused of high treason and other crimes. The Artist is believed to have crossed the eastern border, in the company of a trusted companion. You may consider sending your own choice to join him. Lastly, news of your Voice. He is well enough now, but Poppycock imprisoned him before he could undertake the mission you gave him. Your Voice has much to say—in fact, he doesn’t know when to shut up—but his most interesting story involves Poppycock’s coin purse and an assassin who never slew his target. We’re searching the couch cushions now, hoping for a complete story of the night the full moon rose._

Corvus signed the letter with a quick sketch of a crow’s head. When the pale ink dried, it became invisible. Corvus secured the vial in its hiding spot, rolled up the message, and sealed it with wax, imprinting it with the symbol of a crow in flight. “Do I have a volunteer?” he asked his avian audience.

Several crows responded, but one caught his attention. Its wings were a little ruffled and singed. Corvus smiled as he opened the crow’s cage. This particular crow had volunteered for deliveries to the Breach many times. “I think you like the heat a little too much.”

The crow squawked and tilted its head to study Corvus.

He brushed a delicate finger along the crest of the crow’s head and smiled. “Just be safe.”

The crow nuzzled its head against his hand. Corvus attached the tightly rolled note and double-checked the binding. Then he straightened his back, carried the large bird to the release window, and gave it a good head start up into the air.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan and his new weaponsmith begin their evaluations of the task at hand. And of each other.

The pale golden-green light flickered past Runaan’s awareness so quickly that he nearly missed it. _Kuta…_ He turned, swimming in a blackness as thick as tar, and strained toward the delicate flicker. The effort squeezed him until he felt himself fade at the edges. _I… I’m so tired, my light._

The light brightened. _“Rest, my shade. I am here. Lay your head in my lap and tell me what happened next.”_

Runaan’s turquoise eyes opened on another time and place.

 

***

 

Kuta had thrown himself into sketching various weapons and asking questions about Runaan’s fighting style, and the day had spun by in pleasant efficiency. Though the Sun-blood tinker stayed animated and high-spirited, he managed to maintain a steady focus on his work, no matter how strange he got. At one point, he asked Runaan how many oranges he could juggle at once.

“Is that important?”

“Dexterity check,” was all Kuta said, as he bent over another sketch.

“Eighteen.”

At that, Kuta shot Runaan a wide-eyed look.

Runaan tipped his horns to the side and flicked his eyebrows upward.

Kuta made a note on a scrap of paper. “Uhh, noted. Very good. _Very_ good.”

Later, as Kuta let Runaan play with various wooden swords to see which style he preferred, Runaan spun a short sword in his grip and asked, “Do you know Janai well?”

“Hmm?” Kuta looked up from the note board he was scribbling on. “Oh. Not very well. I think she drew the short straw, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sunfires are generally—uptight isn’t the word. Snooty, maybe. And it’s worst at the palace. I’m pretty sure the guards drew straws and the loser has to deal with me every time I visit.”

“And yet, she recommended you to me.”

A sad smile flitted across Kuta’s lips. “I’m grateful to her. But she wouldn’t have done so a month ago.” The tinker’s hands, usually so animated, had stilled. His sturdy shoulders slumped.

Runaan’s eyes returned to the steady honey glow of Kuta’s gaze. “She said she was helping me for the same reason you would. Tell me.”

Kuta took a deep breath. “In memory of our fathers, who fell at winter’s turn.”

Moments from Runaan’s scorching visit to the Corona’s palace flickered through his memory like flashes of moonlight. In retrospect, Janai’s restraint had been remarkable. “I’m sorry.” He held out the short wooden sword, letting it dangle by the handle from his thumb and finger.

Kuta retrieved it. He gave Runaan a silent nod of acknowledgment and handed him a longer, curving sword. “Try this one. Balance is different. More reach. See what you think.”

The early winter evening fell early, and Kuta gently jostled a few gold-glass jars around the workshop until the dozy moonflies within woke and began to glow. He fed each jar a fresh slice of orange, and soon the workshop glowed like a harvest moon. Runaan stood in their golden light and felt more at home than he had in days. He settled in at a work table just close enough to the forge to feel its warmth and started to look through Kuta’s latest batch of sketches.

“It’ll be easier if you sleep here.” Kuta’s voice carried from the warmer end of the workshop.

“What?” Runaan looked up. A few dozen rumpled pieces of paper around his elbows held design concepts drawn both neatly and half-scribbled. Some had drifted to the floor.

Kuta walked over with some kebobs he’d just flash-barbecued on his forge. Runaan looked askance at them. “Why go out to eat when you can make a nice home-cooked meal yourself?” Kuta asked, offering the platter to Runaan.

Runaan took one and studied it. Meat and vegetables alternated along the metal prong, glistening with a sizzling savory sauce. “Do you always burn your food to death before you eat it?”

Undaunted, Kuta slid a piping hot piece of meat off with his teeth and chewed. “Easier to eat if it’s not still running around. You want to stay here tonight? We can get an early start in the morning that way.”

Runaan cast his gaze around the workshop. A closed door led in the direction of the small attached house. Cobwebs tugged at one of its upper corners. “Do you have an extra bed?”

“Use mine. I literally never sleep there. I think I made that bed last autumn, and it’s still neat and tidy. Maybe a little dusty, but I can fix that.”

Runaan’s brows lowered as possibilities flickered through his mind. Perhaps Kuta had family—parents, cousins, a special someone?—whose home was nearby. “Where do you sleep, then?”

“Where you’re sitting.”

Runaan twitched with a sudden urge to get up, as if he were intruding.

“Relax, Moonshadow. You’re fine. Blazes, I thought you guys were super chill, with your secretive ways and your meditating in the moonlight all night.”

Runaan gave Kuta a direct look. “The Moonshadow elves know many secrets, but how to chill is not one of them.”

Kuta studied his face with a _Wow, you’re actually serious_ look. “All right, then. I’ll make you a deal. You try to relax a little while you’re here, and you can teach me as much as you want about Moonshadows to balance things out. You do like balance, don’t you?”

“Moonshadows like dichotomy and cycles. Not necessarily balance. I’m afraid you’re confusing me with the Star Touches.”

Wariness set in around Kuta’s eyes at Runaan’s reference to the ancient, godlike elves that had once guided the fates of terrestrial races. They had not been seen in a thousand years, and had possibly lost interest in those below them. What interest they did still seem to have had been tainted by the actions of a single elf among them, and the outcome of that interest was visible just over the village wall, where the Firestream marked the boundary between Xadia and the human lands. “Sorry. That’s not where I wanted to take that.”

Runaan slid a bite off his kebob and rescued the conversation. “I like this one.” He tapped a sketch. “I am skilled with bow and blades alike, and one weapon is easier to transport than three.”

“I like that one, too. Really versatile. It’s going to be amazing. You’ll see.”

Runaan held Kuta’s gaze and nodded once, giving permission for the project to begin. “I suppose it would be easier if I stayed here while you complete it. You don’t mind?”

Kuta’s face sobered. “The sooner I can outfit you with the gear you need, the sooner you can set things right. As right as anyone _can_ set them.”

Runaan felt the weight of the tinker’s grief pull at his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Kuta sighed, set down his kebob platter, and leaned his back against the high table where his sketches lay. “No, you’re right. It’s done. I should be trying to move on.”

Runaan slid him a considering look. “You _are_ moving on. You’re helping me achieve the Dragon Queen’s justice.”

Kuta folded his sturdy arms, and his leather forge-sleeves creaked. “Yes. But…”

“Is there more that you feel you should be doing? Something Sunfire, or Earthblood?” _Is this what ‘relaxing’ is? Prying into this gregarious elf’s life as if I have known him for more than a few hours?_

But if Kuta felt pried into, he gave no sign. He unfolded his arms and waved them gracefully, illustrating his points. “Not the way you mean. Sunfires—I grew up with Sunfires—sort of burn their emotions like fuel. They’ll acknowledge them, but they’re under no obligation to express them or mention them. Very _shady_ , for all the light they cast.” He slid his eyes to Runaan to see if he’d gotten a reaction from his pun.

Runaan generously tipped his horns just the slightest bit.

With a smile, Kuta carried on, “Earthbloods, on the other hand, they do mourning like nobody’s business. That’s what winter is, you know. Mourning.”

At that, Runaan blinked. “I did not know that.”

Kuta looked down at him as he sat in Kuta’s chair. “No? Well, it’s like this. Spring is the birth of all things, new and renewed. It is the first step in the cycle of the year, and of life. Summer is the fullness of things. Peak life, if you wanna get technical—and yes, that _was_ a mountain pun. Nothing? Blazes, Moonshadow. I _will_ make you smile if it takes me all week.”

Runaan wasn’t sure how his smiles would help anything, but the tinker’s Sunny enthusiasm reminded him a little of Rayla. “You are cordially invited to try.”

“Good. Thank you. Your permission is appreciated. Now, where was I?”

“Autumn.”

Kuta gestured gracefully, and light gleamed off the gold-green circles on his shoulder. “Right! Autumn. Autumn is acceptance of change. We can’t stop the turn of the seasons. There are forces in the world bigger than any of us, and they do what they like. We just have to try to stay out of the way. Or, in your case, step into the way.”

Runaan sat back and lifted his chin. “And winter is mourning.”

“Mourning, loss, death. Yeah.”

Runaan took a deep breath and looked aside. “I get winter.”

“I suppose you do. I just get a cold neck.” Kuta snugged his warm red scarf closer. “I’m really more of a summer elf.”

Runaan studied the tinker’s long, dark fingers as he adjusted his scarf. Moonfly light gleamed warmly from his cheek markings and glinted off his hornpoints. He really had no business looking so cozy. “You don’t mourn, then?”

“I… it’s not really in my nature.” Kuta offered a smooth shrug of apology. “I have plenty of Earthblood traits. And I do give into my feelings pretty easily—sorry again about grabbing your hair like that.” Kuta looked down.

Runaan let it pass—he’d been the one holding the blade, after all.

Kuta continued, “But I can’t seem to find a way to connect with my sadness, to, you know, get through it. I’ve been hoping for another way to deal with what happened to my father. Maybe you’re it.”

Runaan was already carrying the fates of five others on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure he was up for bearing Kuta’s hopes as well. His eyes cut away. “I should have cut my hair off before the Dragon Queen, even after she told me to leave.”

“No. You did right to obey her, Runaan. I’m sorry that everyone who sees you makes assumptions, though. We weren’t there that day. We don’t know what happened. And neither do you, despite what everyone thinks.”

Runaan pulled a lock of hair forward over his shoulder. He dropped his gaze to the white strands and slid them between his fingers. “I will have to live with it.”

“Good.”

Runaan shot a searching glance up at Kuta.

Kuta’s eyes widened. “Oh. No, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean?”

The reddish hue in Kuta’s cheeks deepened. “I did say that I know a good look when I see one.” He gestured around the workshop, indicating decorative collars, horn and finger rings, ear studs, brooches, and the like. Then he gestured with his other hand to Runaan’s long white hair.

Runaan blinked. He had no idea how to respond, so he blurted the first thing he thought of. “Do… you mind if I get some sleep? I think I got a little too much Sun at the Corona’s palace this morning.”

Kuta followed the conversation’s sudden new direction easily. “Of course! I should have thought of that. Let me show you through.”

Runaan grabbed his pack, and Kuta led the way through the cobwebbed door and down a dark hallway. He held his hand ahead of him, and pale orange light shone from his palm, lighting the way. Runaan’s eyebrows twitched. The Sunfire hand-lights he’d seen before were all a blazing yellow or white. After a couple dozen steps, Kuta pulled a clear jar of dozy moonflies from an inset in the wall and opened a side door next to it. A low, round bed occupied the far half of the room, and shelves and a small table caught the edge of Runaan’s awareness.

Kuta woke the moonflies until they gave off a strong, cool light. He gestured grandly to the bed and its neatly tucked green sheets. “Here you go. Not even a little bit dusty, after all! Oh, how do you like your padding? There’s a layer of sand beneath the sheets, so you can shape it however you like. I can warm it up if you want.”

Runaan shot him an uncertain look, but Kuta was already demonstrating.

“The barter system is amazing. I give the Corona some pretty prisms to hang over her throne, and she gives me…” He held his hand out toward the bed, and a beam of orange light emanated from his fingers, triggering a deep red glow along runes etched in the bed’s stone frame. “Heat magic. I won’t turn it up very high for you, though. Don’t want to come back in the morning and find a pile of ash. Awkward, am I right?”

Runaan managed to keep from snorting, but he couldn’t quite suppress a quiet cough of surprise. He had to admit, he did like the idea of Kuta controlling the Corona’s heat instead of her. He was clearly less interested in scorching Runaan to death for amusement.

Kuta heard him and grinned. “See, you’re _warming_ up to me already.” He let the spell fade and laid a hand on the bed. “There. Nice and cozy. I’ll be up for a while, so if you need anything, just ask.”

Runaan nodded and set his pack on the floor. “Thank you. Your hospitality is most welcome.”

“You should keep these, too.” Kuta pressed the glass jar into Runaan’s hands. “They’re moonflies.”

The glow of the dancing bugs lit Kuta’s face from below, stealing the gold from his skin and limning the delicate planes of his face in purest silver. He looked like he’d been sculpted by the Moon itself. Runaan’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes. I know.”

Kuta’s eyes dropped to the moonflies and returned to Runaan’s gaze a little wider with chagrined realization. “Of course you do. I just, you know, didn’t want you to be left in the _dark_.”

Runaan’s eyebrows twitched at the pun. He accepted the jar and set it on the table beside the round bed. “I’ve always liked moonfly light. When I was a boy, it made me feel like the Moon could come alive.”

Kuta’s smile was soft. “The Earthblood in me really gets that.” His voice dropped into seriousness. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the help you wanted from the Corona. I hope you find my work an adequate substitute.”

Runaan looked from the warm sand bed to his new host-slash-weaponsmith. “You gave me a chance to prove myself. I owe you no less.”

Kuta’s grin was brilliant. “Sleep well, Moonshadow.” He slipped out and closed the door.

Runaan tested the sand bed with his hand and found it pleasantly warm, like a summer night’s breeze. He stripped off his outer layers and his boots and climbed between the thick green sheets, which let no sand through. As he lay down, he found the sandy layer surprisingly soft and pliable. Its warmth eased into his back and sent pleasant prickles across his cool skin. After a few minutes, it even seemed to ease the tight scar tissue around his left ribs. The touch of Sun magic certainly had a nice effect on him. _Moon really does reflect Sun._

He stared up into the dark, enjoying the warm bed. He had originally planned to be near the rift for a day or two at the most. Acquire some sunforge blades, return, train the recruits not to burn their own feet off, and then go where the New Moon Council pointed. But fate had other plans for him. He would have to wait for his new weapon. But if the tinker could make what he said he could make, then Runaan had options. A bespoke weapon for each recruit would potentially be safer and more efficient than a collection of deadly, dangerous sunforge blades.

The broad strokes of a plan formed in his mind. Runaan felt some of his inner tension ease, matching his outer relaxation. It had been a long time since he’d felt like he knew where fate was leading him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled.

He fully expected to slip into a meditative state before falling asleep, as was his habit. But his mind’s eye was full of the sights in the tinker’s workshop. _Rayla would love it in there. So many bright, mysterious things to wonder about. And moonflies. And pretty tips to try on her horns._

 _Pretty._ Kuta’s words echoed in his memory. _“I know a good look when I see one, pretty boy…”_ Runaan’s fingers found a lock of his long moonlit hair and smoothed it to its end. A smile stole across his lips in the dark, where no one could see it.

 

***

 

Down the hallway, Kuta pressed his fingertips over his mouth and stared at one of the gold-glassed moonfly jars on the workshop’s wall. “He thinks I’m a total fool,” he muttered behind his fingers. “Why did I make all those stupid puns? Why am I like this? He’s gonna be gone in the morning, I know it.” His fingers slid up, and he buried his face in his hands.

“Blazes, that _hair_. It’s gonna kill me.” Then he straightened. “No. I can do this. I can keep busy. All night if I have to. I’ve done it before. Though never because of a beautiful Moonshadow who’s sleeping _in my bed_ —” Kuta’s whisper constricted to a strangled falsetto. “Sun have _mercy_. Okay. No. I got this. I do.” He let out a slow breath, set his shoulders, and strode toward his work table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am. These two are simply adorable.
> 
> Act I is finished at about 35k words, but I need to write the current timeline to space in between the chapters. So: you'll get two chapters at a time until I catch up with where I left Runaan and Kuta. Unless I write ahead on them. Which, Moon help me, ma boys may insist on.
> 
> 35k was double my original estimate for this whole story. This thing's gonna be a monster. Buckle up, guys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuta seeks Janai's help, but she's got her hands full. Meanwhile, Amaya runs into more trouble than she expects. Finally, Kuta can't wait any longer, and when he finds Janai, she's got an interesting problem on her hands.

_One week ago_

 

Kuta made his way toward the Corona’s palace, wearing his soft yellow coat despite the mild spring day. In the late afternoon light, the warm sun glinted off the golden trim that heavily decorated the palace façade, and its tower points gleamed like torches. The open metalwork dome that rose over the Corona’s inner court lay nestled among the gold-spiked roofwalks of the inner palace. Kuta eyed it through the arch of the front gate and its raised molten portcullis.

The tinker sighed in relief. No Sol Regem today. The Sun dragon visited the Corona infrequently, but the dome had been constructed specifically to hold his mighty weight. Kuta had studied its delightful construction obsessively, and had been requested several years back, by the Corona herself, to make a small adjustment to the dome’s structural layout. Kuta had nearly fainted with joy—the Corona’s tacit acknowledgment that he was as capable as the ancient elf who had designed the dome in the first place was a higher honor than he’d ever dreamed.

That joy felt unreachably distant today, even without the great dragon’s presence. At least he could approach the palace and make his request this afternoon. Whenever Sol Regem was near, Kuta could feel him a mile away. Well, closer to half a mile. The dragon’s mind was a firestorm, and the feel of his raw power sent nauseating shivers up and down Kuta’s skin. Sol Regem had never spared a thought, kind or otherwise, for the little tinker who sometimes lurked around the edges of the Sun queen’s palace, so Kuta wisely kept his distance whenever the Sun dragon’s shadow arrowed westward toward the palace. The effects of the dragon’s proximity could last for hours, and that played hell with Kuta’s productivity.

With his hands in his fluffy coat pockets, Kuta approached the pair of gate guards and gingerly read their moods. He stepped up to the one with the more neutral expression and offered a friendly smile. “I’m here to see Corona Blade Janai. Does she have time for a visitor today?”

The guard’s eyes blinked lazily and opened to focus on Kuta, as if he were a slow child. “Janai’s not here.”

“When will she return?”

The guard stared at him flatly.

Kuta could feel the guard’s irritation rising. “You know, it might be healthier if you let out some of that pent-up emotion,” he suggested. “A longsuffering sigh, maybe? A single _tsk_?”

The other guard came to the rescue, though Kuta could tell that he meant to rescue his friend from Kuta’s pesky questions rather than lending the Sun-blood any assistance. “She’ll be back when she’s done tossing some humans into the Firestream.”

“Oh, is it that time already?” Kuta glanced up at the sun as if he’d lost track.

The guard’s smirk was positively sunny. “Time to kick them out of their invasive outpost so hard that they never come back? Yes, it _is_ that time. Come back another day, tinker.”

Kuta offered a graceful bow, and his horns and prosthetic leg glinted in the late light. “Until next time, then.”

 

***

 

_Three days ago_

 

Kuta gingerly shrugged his yellow coat on in the middle of the workshop, wincing as he tucked his hands into his pockets. The fingers of his right hand brushed a hard object, and as he let himself out into the cloudy daylight, he pulled it out and looked it.

The breeze twirled his silver tree ornaments and lazily spun the vanes on his windmill. Fresh new leaves had quickened on all but the last of his trees, and gravid flower buds threatened to bloom on his fruit trees any moment. _All this life._ One life was missing, though, and the gap it left could never be bounded within the ring’s circle.

The ring on his palm lay empty of its heartfelt gift. Its silver tracery swirled in an endless pattern, round and round, but the white weave that had once danced alongside the silver was gone. Kuta clenched his teeth for a moment, remembering. He had been foolish. Desperate. And Runaan had been furious.

_Our first fight. I know where it landed me, my shade. Still working on where it’s landed you._

He tucked the ring back into his pocket and padded his way down the village trail to the main way. The cloudy sky hung dark in the distance, but closer by, it reflected the Firestream’s dull orange glow. Kuta tried not to be one for omens, but his luck definitely felt ominous today.

He usually didn’t bother with tightening up the tension in his leg, but even the tiny jostle from the soft clink his prosthetic made was enough to draw his shoulder blades together to carry extra tension. So he lit up his sunflower magic and walked soundlessly down the trail. He even cushioned his footsteps with Earth magic. Every little bit helped, even if it meant he had to walk more slowly to concentrate.

As soon as the guards saw him coming, they waved him off. “Not today, tinker.”

Kuta stopped short. “Come on, guys, I haven’t even asked you anything yet.”

One tipped his horns up toward the furthermost tower on the palace. “The Corona is Sun-speaking with Sol Regem. None is allowed—”

Kuta held up his right hand. “Say no more.” With a smooth pivot on his metal heel, he began the mile walk back home. He’d rather walk _ten_ miles in his current condition than wait another breath at the palace gates, close to the great dragon and his cataclysmic mind.

As he reached the crest of the first hill alongside the stream, he glanced back down at the palace. He felt much calmer at this distance. He could _just_ make out the flare of Sun magic that the Corona cast within her open-sided tower. A golden ripple of light, a mirage, allowed far-seeing conversations with another casting the same spell. Distance was no obstacle. Sol Regem could be anywhere. _He could be anywhere in Xadia and still shake me like a jar of berry juice. Neat._

Kuta flexed his right hand hard, then stretched his fingers wide, while his left remained safely tucked in its pocket. It helped, but not nearly enough. His worries all lay elsewhere. _Runaan, where are you?_

He would try again when he felt more himself. In the meantime, he had urgent projects that needed his attention. He would stay up all night if he had to. He had done it before. Runaan was worth it every time.

 

***

 

_Yesterday_

 

Kuta slowly approached the glowing portcullis, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders tense. His feet left no signs of his presence on the lava rock path, and his steps were achingly slow. His breathing had become labored over the last couple of days, and he hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours each night. His body was suffering, but his mind was in true torment, worrying over Runaan.

_Everything’s gone wrong. Sun and fire, everything’s gone wrong._

To his surprise, one of the guards stepped out to meet him. “Tinker. You don’t look well.”

Kuta studied him with bloodshot eyes. A swirl of mild concern hovered in the guard’s mind, and Kuta suspected Janai was its source. The guards must have told her of his previous attempts to see her, and she had apparently said something favorable to them regarding him. _She honors me._ “I need to see Janai. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“I’m afraid you are, tinker. She is not within.”

 _No, not again!_ Kuta tried to suppress a growl, but he was only partially successful. “Do I have to abandon _all_ the shreds of my pride and camp out by the gates like a beggar? Because if you think I _won’t_ do that, you really don’t know who you’re dealing with! This is a matter of life and death!” _And something even worse…_

The guard, alarmed by Kuta’s emotional outburst, held up his palms to forestall a meltdown. “She left within the hour. We were not told of her objective or her mission, but she acts on the Corona’s orders. On Sol Regem’s orders.”

Kuta could have wept. Maybe he was weeping. It was hard to tell anymore, between the pain and the sleep deprivation. He set his teeth as his chest tightened. “When. Will she. Return.”

“We are to look for her before dawn and raise the portcullis at her approach.” The guard rested a sturdy hand on Kuta’s left shoulder, and Kuta nearly passed out from the agonizing jostle. Surely all the blood in his face had taken refuge elsewhere within him. “You truly don’t look well. Go rest. Come back in the morning.”

“Mmph,” was all Kuta could manage. He slid out from under the guard’s well-intentioned hand and began to shuffle for home, blinking stars from his eyes. And tears.

 _Runaan. Where_ are _you? You promised me. You promised._

 

***

 

Janai stepped out into the cool night and took a deep breath to clear her lungs. The air in the underpath had been sulfuric. But her first breath of clean air wasn’t entirely clean. She could smell the humans a mile away. Their cookfires blew the scent of roasting meat her way.

She gestured silently to her troops, and they slipped among the warped and melted rock formations that bordered the Firestream, taking up their prearranged positions.

All they had to do now was wait.

 

***

 

Astride her faithful war horse Bestgarden, General Amaya led her patrol back toward the Standing Battalion’s fortress. They traveled single file along the narrow, gravelly path that paralleled the Thaw—Commander Gren’s overly cheerful term for the thousand-foot-wide strip of half-molten rock that bounded the entire western edge of the lava river.

 _We won’t feel so hot here if we name it after the breakup of river ice!_ he had signed to her on their first day at the border, while wearing his usual beaming smile.

He’d turned out to be right—well, partially right. The troops made fun of the name, but it stuck, and Gren had called that a win.

While her troops aimed crossbows at every dark shadow, Amaya spared a thought for Gren. He was supposed to have found her nephews by now. Alternately, so was Corvus. She wished at least one of them would think of her poor tender feelings and send her a letter. Or more accurately, think of their poor tender jaws if they did _not_. Amaya flexed her right fist and frowned in dark amusement, and her skin pulled against the crescent scar on her right cheek.

A faint flicker caught her eye. Without her hearing to rely upon, Amaya had become more attuned to light, movement, and vibration. She studied the dark rocks off to the left, holding her hand up to block the lurid upglow from the lava river.

Something was out there.

She held up her other hand in a fist, and her troops stopped. A quick sign and an imperious index finger had them off their mounts and stealthing down into the broken rock bed of the Thaw.

Amaya stayed mounted, scanning the area where she’d seen the light. No glow worm of a Sunfire was going to sneak past her watch tonight. The Moonshadow assassins had taken the king’s life, and they’d paid the ultimate price for their treachery. Amaya wasn’t about to let a single elf of any tribe past her guard after that. Especially not when her nephews—one of them being the uncrowned king of Katolis—were out and about! If she’d had her way, that Moonshadow who kidnapped them would be rotting in a ditch somewhere.

She realized she was steaming over the past instead of focusing on the present. With a hard blink, she sat up straighter and scanned the dark, lumpy territory where her soldiers had disappeared.

It had been too long. Nothing moved in the night before her.

Amaya’s eyes slitted, and her lip curled. _It’s her. I know it._ She dismounted and drew her sturdy new sword—the Sunfire had sliced the blade clean off her last one. And the one before that! Easing down the uneven terrain, Amaya breathed through her mouth to keep from giving her position away with the sound of her own breath. Gren had mentioned how easy it was to track her based on her breathing during stealth exercises at boot camp, helped her practice it, and been genuinely excited for her when she finally ambushed him during a training exercise. They’d been inseparable ever since.

_Let Gren be. Find the Sunfire._

Her hand clenched around her weapon as she eased around a large, misshapen boulder. Her shield lay quiet against her back. The heavy piece of war booty, pieced together from recovered Sunfire armor and redecorated with the colors of the Standing Battalion, rang true to its elven origins and vibrated against her from even the most ordinary sounds. But it remained undisturbed by the _tik-tik_ signals she expected to feel at regular intervals from her soldiers’ stealthy tap messages, chosen to imitate the territorial calls of volchillas that lived among the rocks.

The night was too still. Amaya began to sweat.

She stalked between a pair of broken rock pillars, hopped over a boulder that looked like a giant catweasel, and paused at the sight of a needle’s-eye ahead of her. The choke point between two large lumps of rock would be an ideal ambush site.  Amaya scanned the area and circled around to the right, expecting to sneak up on the back side of some huddling elves.

Instead, she walked right into the _actual_ ambush.

That Sunfire knight stood facing her, chin high in triumph. From all sides, other Sunfires stood, holding her own troops at bladepoint.

Amaya’s first instinct was to aim her sword at the Sunfire with an angry grimace.

But the elf didn’t scare. She _smiled_. Her cool expression came in sharp contrast to the sudden heat that cracked her right arm.

Amaya’s eyes lingered on the elf’s arm in dismay. _Not this again._

The Sunfire reached her molten hand toward one of Amaya’s soldiers. The tall young woman’s pale blue eyes went wide as that accursed Sunfire magic approached her face.

Amaya quickly lowered her weapon. The Sunfire’s smile grew smug. With her other hand, the elf gestured between Amaya and the young soldier.

Amaya understood. _Me, or my troops._ She glowered at the elf, baring her teeth.

The Sunfire moved her fingers another inch toward the soldier.

Furious with herself for being so predictable as to get these troops into such a mess, Amaya stabbed her sword into the black rock underfoot. She raised her hands in surrender.

The Sunfire nodded condescendingly. Then, to Amaya’s shock, she managed a few rough signs. _Their lives for yours._

Her eyes went wide in surprise just as the elf’s left fist connected with her cheek.

 

***

 

“As you expected, Blade Janai.” The Sunfire hefted General Amaya’s shield onto his back and nodded in respect. “She came to us. I am impressed with your ability to predict the human’s behavior so well.”

Janai’s eyes assessed the elf before her with a cynicism borne of many years of having to prove herself to elven men and women alike. “You should be. I am a Blade of the Corona’s Forge.” Janai dismissed him from her mind and turned to the others, who were busy strapping Amaya’s unconscious form onto a sturdy stretcher for easy transport. “Bring her. We must return at once.” She looked back at the trussed human soldiers, lying unconscious among the lumps of black rock. She could easily kill them all. But it was far more entertaining to count coup this time and let them live knowing they owed their lives to her, and that they had collectively failed to save their general. Her lips curved in the dark.

Janai led the way through twisting stone until they crossed the horse path. One by one, they sloped across its narrow gravel and eased down into the stony field beyond, and soon they reached their insertion point. No one looked very hard for infiltrators this far from the Firestream. All human eyes were trained eastward on the Breach.

That was the _point_.

On this side of the horse path, grass grew sporadically, and scrappy trees with something to prove did their best to break up the lava rock with their insistent roots. But much of the landscape still consisted of rocky boulders what had been flung from the Firestream’s path by the Dragon King’s guardian rage. They hunkered into the earth as if they still feared his wrath. Janai embraced her heat-being and slid her hand across a lumpy angle of rock on one of the boulders, and it melted away, revealing a hollow passage that descended sharply into the earth.

One by one, the Sunfires slipped through the narrow opening, bearing Amaya and all her gear—including her pilfered mutant shield—and descended through a lava tube to one of many underpaths the Sunfires guarded deep beneath the Firestream. Last in line, Janai turned and melted a new sheet of stone across the entrance, taking the time to make it appear natural. She sucked the heat out of it when it was just as she wanted it and then turned to follow.

A dozen paces below the surface, the smooth-sided tunnel widened, and she took her place at the head of her cohort. She led them through the hot, smoky tunnels that reeked of sulfur and molten stone, and despite the extra weight of the armored human general, they kept up with her pace.

Janai realized she was in a hurry to return. Her mission had gone off without a hitch. The prisoner was on her way to the Corona’s palace. The knowledge she possessed would address Sol Regem’s concerns. Janai had her own concerns about the Sun dragon’s motives and intent, but she enjoyed anticipating the look on the human’s face when she found herself in the presence of a mighty dragon. _I’ll bet myself a bag of orangeleather that she messes herself. I win either way._

Janai felt a wrinkle in her amusement as they passed the halfway point, treading eastward deep in the black-red rock. She always felt strange at this point in the crossing, this cramped yet liminal space, as if the Firestream over her head could sense her. Even with her heat-being, if the river of lava should decide to collapse the tunnel and smother her, she would not survive its depth and intense heat.

Her spine prickled. _I pass my death. I greet it like an old friend. And I keep walking. This time._

Slowly, Janai looked behind her to where Amaya lay on the stretcher borne by two elves. Even out cold, the human’s expression was intent. _You will most likely meet your death at Sol Regem’s claws. There is no walking away from that._

Amaya was a worthy foe. Sol Regem’s ambition would burn her alive. A strange hiccup of hesitation flickered in Janai’s chest.

Janai spun forward again. Her eyes tightened. _All suns set._

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sword is forged, and a budding connection as well. Also: sparring!

When Runaan woke, his sand bed had cooled somewhat, and a pitcher and a glass of water had mysteriously appeared by his bedside. While he was grateful—and parched—he was suddenly wary about Kuta’s ability to sneak up on him. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Perhaps he was more tired than he realized. Perhaps the Dragon Guard’s disgraceful end had affected him even more than he thought. He drank the whole pitcher and watched the sleepy moonflies tuck themselves beneath their pale, fuzzy wings for a good day’s sleep. “Rest well, little ones.” Then he dressed and made his way to the workshop.

Kuta was already awake and bustling around. Or perhaps he hadn’t slept. The elf moved around the room with frenetic energy, but he came to an abrupt halt upon seeing Runaan. “You’re awake.” A broad smile flickered across his ruddy skin and was gone. He gestured to a plate of dried fruits and cheeses on the table next to the low wall. “I didn’t burn anything to death for breakfast this morning. How did you sleep?”

Runaan helped himself to a dried apricot. “A little too deeply, it seems. I did not hear you come in. How did you do that?”

Kuta spun on the heel of his prosthetic leg and gestured to himself with graceful fingers. “Earthblood, remember? I don’t even leave footprints when I don’t want to.”

Runaan gave Kuta more of his attention. “That’s very interesting. Such a skill could prove useful on this mission. Do you fight?”

Kuta barked a laugh. “Not since I upgraded my leg.”

Runaan’s eyes fell to Kuta’s prosthetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I love this thing.”

“I noticed that it makes a soft noise when you step. But I would have heard that when you came in.”

Kuta was unfazed. “I have to use the sunflower magic or it clinks—still trying to work out some kinks after my last upgrade—but I can keep everything silent if I concentrate and go slow.”

“Sunflower magic?”

Kuta picked up a spear of dried papaya and waved away the curiosity in Runaan’s voice. “That’s just what I call it. A combination of Sun, Earth, and elbow grease. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

“Limp, I suppose?” Runaan reached for a few dried cherries. When he looked back at Kuta, the tinker was staring at him in unrestrained glee.

“Did you just make a joke? I wasn’t sure you knew how.”

Runaan dipped his horns to the side. “You did tell me to relax while I’m here.”

“I did say that, yes. I guess you should sleep in my bed more often.”

The elves stared at each other, both caught in a sudden moment.

Kuta flushed a pretty deep red. “No, um. That came out wrong.  I mean to say that you must’ve had a restful sleep. You were so sound asleep when I brought your water that I was tempted to make sure you were still breathing.”

Runaan blinked slowly, catlike. “It’s not wise to lean over a trained warrior like that. Even in his sleep.”

Kuta blinked several times in rapid succession. “Oh. Uh, noted.”

“Hoo-hoo, anyone home?” an elderly, cheery voice called from the workshop door.

Runaan and Kuta both tensed and looked over.

An elderly Sunfire let herself in, carrying a dark metal pot with a lid. Her brown face was a mass of friendly wrinkles, and the dark bun that rested like a cinnamon roll between her upright horns had heavy threads of gray in it. “Kuta, dear, I have your favorite. Did you finish my little pretties yet?”

Kuta gave Runaan a look that clearly said _Stay here_ and crossed the distance to the front door. “Good morning, Siba. It’s so good to see you. I have your bracelets right here. And I haven’t eaten a thing yet—” Behind him, Runaan coughed at the lie. Kuta made a quick gesture behind his back to tell him to keep his sanctimonious Moonshadow ways to himself. “—so I’ll be stuffing my face with your frypods as soon as I can.”

Siba handed over the heavy metal pot in exchange for a soft woven bag that clinked with polished stones. “Can’t have an elf of your talents going hungry, now can we?” She reached up and patted Kuta’s cheek with a soft hand. Then her old, gray eyes fell on Runaan. “Oh, you have a friend with you today. How… unusual.”

Kuta took a graceful step to his left and blocked her view of Runaan while offering her a blinding smile. “Just another customer. Thank you for coming by.”

“So early in the morning? Hardly anyone else is up—”

“See you next time!” Kuta herded her out with a firm but gentle arm around her shoulders. He turned around and leaned against the door as soon as he’d shut it behind her.

Runaan raised an eyebrow. “Which one of us embarrasses you more?”

Kuta stood away from the door and sighed. “That’s not it, Moonshadow. Siba is a delight. She’s one of the nicest people in the whole village. Makes it hard to remember that she has a heat-being. I love making little bracelets for her.” He walked to the table and placed the heavy pot on it. When he whisked off the lid, the smell of steamed frypods permeated the air. Runaan’s stomach growled. “But her mind is slipping, poor dear. She talks. Babbles, really.”

Runaan edged closer to the frypods. “I can’t turn invisible on cue, you know. I need a full Moon for that. If you wanted me to leave the room, you should have—”

“I’m not embarrassed by you, Runaan. I _need_ to be helping you. I just… You can turn invisible?”

Runaan lifted his eyes from the frypods and dipped his horns in confirmation. “Near enough.”

Kuta’s smile was thoughtful and engaged. “I’d like to see that. Let’s see, how soon is the next full moon?”

“Three days,” Runaan said promptly.

“I think the bowblade will take that long to complete. Would you mind showing me?”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed in wry amusement at Kuta’s wording choice.

“Demonstrating. Would you demonstrate your powers? I’ve never seen a Moonshadow in power mode.”

Runaan’s chin lifted. His eyes lingered on Kuta’s with amusement. “You’re not supposed to. That’s the whole point.”

Kuta put a hand to his forehead and groaned. “I can’t stop stepping in it, can I?”

Runaan took pity and let it go. “If I’m still here, perhaps I will, as you say, demonstrate.” He made a thoughtful pout. “Tell me why you acted that way with Siba.”

Kuta sighed, and his sturdy shoulders slumped. “I’m a half-blood in a Sunfire village. Some days, alley catweasels have it better than me. Siba genuinely likes me, but she forgets, sometimes, and she says things that other, less nice Sunfires overhear.”

Runaan nodded. “You think the villagers will turn against me because of you.” He reached for a steaming frypod and lifted it to his mouth.

Kuta’s hand locked around Runaan’s wrist. “ _Don’t_.”

Runaan’s eyes widened. He looked from the frypod to Kuta’s intense expression.

Kuta raised his free hand toward the frypod and traced a small green rune in the air, a nearly complete circle surrounded by the four dots of his fingertips. “ _Tracto sabulum_.” He made a gesture that _pulled_ through the rune, and tiny, glittering fragments suddenly worked their way out through the frypod’s cornflour wrap. He held out his hand and they settled into his palm as lightly as snowflakes.

Runaan inhaled sharply through his nose. The frypod had been laced with tiny shards of glass.

Kuta released Runaan’s hand. “They _already_ judge you, Moonshadow, _because you are not_ _Sunfire_.”

Runaan glanced toward the door. “Siba did this?”

“Her grandchildren. They think it’s funny. Siba doesn’t know, but they keep sneaking glass or rocks into her frypod recipe when she’s not looking.”

Runaan’s brows settled low over his eyes. “What a monstrous prank, to make you sort through your food with Earth magic before you can eat it.”

Kuta offered a wry smile. “I’m not sure they know I can use my magic for that.”

Runaan must have looked truly aghast, because Kuta chuckled. “Relax, Moonshadow. I’m perfectly safe. And so are you. Eat your frypod.”

Runaan glared at his food. “It’s not right.”

“The frypod?”

“What they do to you.”

Kuta shook his head, and his horntips winked in the light. “I can’t dwell. This is my home.”

With a reluctant sigh, Runaan nodded. But he was not convinced.

Kuta cleared the glass fragments from the rest of the frypods. Once they’d eaten their fill—with plenty left over for lunch—he replaced the pot’s lid. “Time to get to work. I did all my sketching and measuring last night, but I didn’t want to wake you by hammering away on the anvil in the middle of the night. And it’s easier if you help me.”

“Me?”

Kuta grinned and ostentatiously checked for anyone else in the room. Finding no one but the two of them, he looked back at Runaan with a smirk. “Buck up, Moonshadow. It’s your dexterity I need, not your strength. You flip, and I’ll do the hammering.”

Runaan heard a thread of teasing in Kuta’s tone. “You’ll have to show me how that goes.”

The tinker’s eyes twinkled. “Deal. Right this way.”

Runaan trailed Kuta’s soft foot-clinks to the forge and received a crash course in heat safety. Kuta had already placed a long bar of metal in the forge’s mouth, and when it was fully radiant with heat, the work began.

Kuta retrieved the heated metal bar with tongs that he passed to Runaan. Once the metal rested atop a large anvil, he began to pound on it with a heavy hammer, calling over its ringing thwacks when he wanted Runaan to flip the bar. The heat from the bar was intense, and it gave Runaan uncomfortable flashbacks to the Corona’s court the day before. At least Kuta stood between him and the forge, a shield against the heat. If he had been with Runaan yesterday, he probably would have dragged out some crazy Earth spell to protect Runaan from the Corona’s blazing touch, spinning his arms toward the Corona, drawing stone up from the ground, warm lava light glinting off his gold-green markings, eyes alight, red-tipped hair blowing in the hot breeze—

Kuta’s hand came down on Runaan’s wrist and squeezed. Runaan was sure the tinker had no idea how strong he was. He definitely didn’t know how Runaan felt about touching. “Earth to Runaan. Sun to Runaan? Hey.”

Runaan blinked and came back to the present moment. “Hmm?”

“Time to reheat. Give me the tongs. You okay? Is the heat too much?”

 _Perhaps it is._ Out loud, he said, “I’m fine. I’ll try to pay more attention.”

The morning progressed with Runaan dexterously flipping the metal at Kuta’s commands, while the tinker folded it repeatedly over on itself and beat it into the shape of one of Runaan’s new swords. Runaan didn’t know much about molten metal, but he got a prickling feeling that Kuta was using at least one of his arcana—and probably both—to shape and reinforce the weapon.

By lunch, it was finished and cool, though not sharpened yet. Kuta wrapped its handle with leather bindings while they ate the rest of the frypods. He even shaped a few Moon runes into the leather.

“For grip,” he said, as Runaan admired it. “Now let’s head out back and you can test its balance.”

“Out back?”

Kuta shot him a crooked smile, and Runaan realized he had missed something. Kuta glided to the back wall of the workshop, pressed _just so_ against a panel in the stone wall, and a whole section laden with tools swung wide, revealing a back garden.

Runaan tipped his horns in acknowledgment of the clever doorway. “And they call Moonshadows tricky.”

Kuta laughed aloud, and the clear joy of it prickled Runaan’s skin. “Come on. See if you can knock me down.”

“What?”

Kuta rotated dramatically on his prosthetic foot and gestured with his fingertips for Runaan to bring it. “I bet you can’t.”

Runaan’s eyes slitted, and a feral smile flashed across his lips.

He stepped into Kuta’s walled back garden with his new sword in his hand, ready to begin, but he paused to stare up at the cliff that dominated the skyline. The dark basalt monolith rose like a magnificent stone tree stump. Its heavy, rough crystals—each resembling a six-sided tree trunk itself up close—appeared like rugged bark in the distance. The rush of the waterfall that sluiced down its sheer face just carried to his ears. “Is there a way to the top?” he asked.

“Sure,” Kuta replied easily.

“The Moon must look incredible up there.” His voice had gotten soft, but he couldn’t help it. He had developed a true affinity for meditating out in the moonlight—something he’d grown fond of at the Dragon King’s palace, which commanded a magnificent view of the night sky. Sitting closer to the Moon than any other thing in sight would be truly thrilling.

“Oh, at _night_.” Kuta’s cheeks flushed. “Yeah, I bet it does.” Runaan turned to him with a warm, dazzling smile that glowed like the Moon, and Kuta gasped, choked, and then had a coughing fit. He waved off Runaan’s raised eyebrow of concern. “No, I’m fine. Let’s do this. See what that sword can do.” He hefted a leather-covered round shield with practiced ease. “Anytime you’re ready.”

Runaan glanced around to get his bearings in the garden. A flat-topped boulder hunkered near Kuta’s back door. Trees offered the workshop and the house shelter here and there, their bare or needled limbs raised skyward. An expanse of grass stretched behind the workshop to the curvig back fence, where a row of soft evergreens acted as a screen. The sound of the stream reached his ears from just past the fence behind Kuta.

_Such a peaceful place to practice death. I like it._

He spun the sword in his hand a few times to get its feel, then gave it a few diagonal slashes, back and forth. He set himself in front of Kuta. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

To his surprise, Kuta’s reply was sassy and dismissive. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

“Is that so?” Runaan’s feral smile returned, and he lunged. Kuta’s eyes widened, and he raised his shield. The sword performed perfectly, coming down with a heavy thud against the shield’s leather wrapping, exactly where Runaan intended. But he found himself bouncing off and landing a few feet away. He skidded smoothly to a stop and glanced in confusion from his sword to Kuta’s shield.

Kuta lowered the shield and grinned cockily. “Again?”

Runaan darted forward, dropped a low slice, connected with the shield just as he intended—and found himself two steps further to his left than he’d planned. Without pause, he spun and leaped back toward Kuta, sword raining down its gleaming blow.

The bounce-back nearly toppled him off his feet, and he skidded on the grass once again. His eyes slitted in suspicion. “Earth magic?”

Kuta laughed again, and Runaan’s skin prickled with a shiver. “Maybe. How’s the sword?”

Runaan gave it a lazy spin and a quick slash. “I’m still deciding.”

Kuta’s grin was smug. “No, you’re not. You just want to knock me over.”

Runaan grinned back. “Maybe I do.”

He set his focus on the tinker, braced behind his round shield. Ground the ball of his foot into the grass for traction. Stilled himself. Breathed out. Felt the fresh weight of his sword in his hand. The pull of the Moon below the horizon. The rush of life. The thrill of death.

_How I live for this._

Runaan dashed forward, faked to the left, and sprang over the tinker’s head in a high flip. He dragged the sword across the shield’s leather, landed on one foot, pivoted, and pressed the unsharpened blade against the tinker’s throat.

His smile of triumph wilted at the sight of his blade softening and bending around the tinker’s skin.

Kuta chuckled, looking slightly abashed. “Sorry. I was mean not to warn you. Give it here. I’ll put it back the way it was.” He held up his hands to accept the sword.

After a tense moment of feeling tricked, Runaan straightened and placed the wobbly blade atop the tinker’s hands. At his touch, the sword snapped back to its original shape and hardness.

Runaan flinched back. “You left Earth magic in my sword?”

Kuta offered the blade back on the palms of his hands. “Only temporarily. It’s a safety measure. If I get hurt, I can’t finish your bowblade, can I?”

Runaan gave his sword an experimental swing. It felt identical. “Will it bend like that around any Earthblood?”

Kuta shot him a wry look. “Why, do you suspect that the humans’ invasion was secretly planned by Earthbloods?”

Runaan frowned. He was about to reply that he did have plans to use his sword after completing his mission for the Dragon Queen, and who knew what exactly they might entail? But he caught himself just in time. He had no idea what he was going to do after his mission was complete. The Dragon Guard might redeem its honor, but the Dragon Queen had given no indication that she would re-form their cohort. He had, effectively, no future to look forward to.

An iron fist punched him in the shoulder, drawing him out of his realization. “Earth to the Moon? Hello? You sure you’re feeling all right? You’ve been drifting in and out today.”

Runaan’s jaw tightened around a controlled smile. “This blade literally can’t hurt you?”

Kuta hefted the shield. “Literally can’t.”

Runaan’s smile was a gleam of challenge. “Good.”

He stepped back and swung at the shield. Left, right, right, anticipating the tinker’s Earth-magic rebound. The dull thuds of his strikes staccatoed like heavy rain, and slowly he drove Kuta back across the garden. The sword sang in his hand, responding to his every need. A quarter of an hour of practice, and already it functioned as an extension of his will. Runaan had never held its like.

He swung harder, leaped higher, pivoted faster. The sky blurred. The grass rippled. And Kuta remained ever steady beneath his blows. Runaan and his blade danced, and with his shield, Kuta provided the beat.

Time flowed like a moonlit breeze as Runaan flew and struck. He felt himself growing lighter rather than heavier. Kuta’s shield never once wavered, and Runaan’s sword always landed true.

Finally, Runaan reluctantly lowered his arm and wiped the sweat from his brow. He hadn’t felt that good in a very long time. His body fairly sang.

“So.” Kuta approached, wearing a broad grin. “You like the sword.”

Runaan held it up and admired it, even in its rough form. “I like the sword.”

“Even if you didn’t manage to—”

Runaan’s left arm shot out and caught the tinker on the shoulder, trying to topple him unexpectedly.

Kuta’s prosthetic foot clicked, and three small metal panels flipped groundward from the sides and back. They grew metal spikes and drove into the soil, stabilizing him.

Runaan glared down at the foot, then back at Kuta. He squinted accusingly. “Cheating?”

Kuta beamed his most innocent smile. “Sunflower magic.”

Runaan’s lips quirked into a moue of reluctant respect. “You’ll have to show me all the things that foot can do, sometime.”

“Happy to. But first?”

Runaan’s scowl eased until his teeth showed in a hard smile. “Another sword.”

“Another sword.” Kuta’s foot released, and they headed back toward the workshop.

“I’ll knock you over when I have both swords,” Runaan promised. “If you don’t cheat.”

Kuta laughed. Runaan closed his eyes against the warm shiver that inevitably crossed his skin. It was growing on him.

“Here, hold this,” Kuta said, “and see if you still think so.” He held out his shield without effort.

Curious to see if the shield would warp or wiggle—or sprout roses?—with Earth magic, Runaan was caught off guard by the sheer weight of the thing and nearly dropped it. “What—what is this made of?” he asked as he recovered his poise.

Kuta aimed an easy thumb at the monolith behind the village. “Refined basalt.”

Runaan couldn’t help shooting a wide-eyed glance back at the cliff. The shield easily weighed as much as Rayla did, but Kuta had hefted the thing with one arm like it weighed next to nothing.

Kuta reached out with a teasing smile playing around his mouth. “You want me to carry that for you?”

Runaan pushed it back into his arms. “I _will_ best you. Somehow.”

Kuta’s pale red eyebrows lifted in pleased surprise. “You are cordially invited to try.”

A bark of laughter escaped Runaan’s lips.

“Not just a smile, but a laugh.” Kuta appeared intensely pleased with himself. “I’m glad to have lifted your spirits at last, my shade. Even if it was by encouraging you to beat the—”

“What did you call me?” Runaan blurted.

Kuta’s smooth expression shifted into panic. “What? What’d I say? I just said ‘Moonshadow.’”

“No, you said ‘my shade.’” Runaan’s turquoise eyes were intent.

Kuta’s lips started to form several words that didn’t get finished, before he finally settled on, “I did not. Your ears are just ringing from all those sword strikes. Besides. ‘My shade’ sounds like some kind of insult in your culture. Right?”

Runaan was quiet as they re-entered the workshop, and he didn’t dare lift his eyes to meet Kuta’s. “Not exactly.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaya and Janai don't exactly see eye to eye, but they've got problems that need to be dealt with, and they're both the type who will do whatever it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did what I could for Amaya's character and communication skills with the little experience I have with ASL. I hope Amaya comes across as the sassy badass I intended her to be. I adore her! Any shortcomings are all my fault, as usual.

Amaya woke on her back in the sand. It was cool, but it cradled her weight comfortably. For a second, she assumed that she still lay somewhere in the irregular landscape of the Thaw.

Then she opened her eyes.

A strange roof met her gaze—a small dome of red and gold metal, yet with a broad slice cut out of its arch at a strange, curving angle. The morning sun beamed down through the gap a couple of feet from where she lay, lighting the deep red sand with an illusion of intense heat.

Amaya twitched up onto one elbow in the sand and looked around in alarm. As she did so, her wrists pulled at each other. She looked down. Sturdy rope that seemed woven from metal held her wrists together with a short length between them—no more than a foot. From that length hung a bell that looked like a sun disc had melted over a marble. Its little points trapped a metal ball inside, which, Amaya assumed, was meant to jingle and alert her captors to her movements.

_Great. I’m a cat now._

The next thing she noticed was her sore jaw. A hot knot throbbed below her lower right teeth. _Guess I owe the Sunfire a smack to the face now. That’ll be fun._

Amaya’s arms prickled in the cool morning air. Her weapons and armor had been taken, leaving her in long dark gray trousers and a black sleeveless undervest. Her long-sleeved teal tunic and her boots were gone, too, leaving her feeling more exposed than she’d like.

She looked up again. A delicate mesh of metal surrounded her like a birdcage from the center of the dome down to the floor. The sand she lay in was edged by a red metal border just inside the cage bars.

 Past the glittering filigree, the northeast tower wall was entirely missing. Outside that open section, she could see only distant mountains. Involuntarily, she clutched at the sand as if it could anchor her somehow, but it just slipped through her fingers. Heights were… not her favorite.

Her chest heaved for a few breaths before she got herself under control. _I’m not falling out the open wall. It’s okay._ Amaya stood up in the sand pit within her delicate cage and looked for an exit to the little room.

Stairs. To her left. Spiraling downward. Judging by the angling curve of the first three steps, which matched the concave curve of the wall, Amaya deduced that she was being held at the top of a tower.

The sunlight on the floor seemed to have edged a hair closer to her. Amaya glanced upward at the strange arc in the ceiling’s cutout. It perfectly traced the path of the sun across the sky.

She was being held at the top of a _Sunfire_ tower.

A light vibration passed through the sand beneath her feet. Amaya looked around for its source and spotted a pair of dark, smoothly curving elven horns rising from the stairwell, fronted by a golden hornguard and protruding from a thick mass of dark red braids. Familiar golden shoulder plating topped sturdy scale-armor in red and gold, and a sunforge blade hung on the elf’s right hip, its sheath covered in runes.

_You again._

The elf’s brown eyes landed on her, then dismissed her. She carried tray in one hand, bearing a little pitcher and an even smaller cup. She walked right past Amaya and set it on a small table by the outer wall. When she turned, her face was a mask of challenge.

Amaya grimaced and rolled her jaw, setting her teeth. _Bring it._

“You can understand me?” the elf said. Amaya read her lips, but she also felt a strange shudder in her chest, as if the elf’s voice carried an unusual timbre or volume.

She blinked slowly as if she couldn’t understand anything at all.

The Sunfire reached back for the metal cup and held it through the delicately curving bars of Amaya’s cage. Amaya glanced inside suspiciously, but saw only water. She reached slowly for the cup, keeping her eyes on her enemy.

“Careful, it’s hot.” Again, the strange vibration. Her hand twitched away from the metal.

The elf barked a quick laugh. “So you can understand me.”

Amaya glared at the dark-skinned woman, annoyed at being so transparent.

“I have questions. After you answer them, I will let you go.”

 _Do I look like an encyclopedia to you?_ she signed.

The elf twitched her brows together. Clearly, she didn’t follow all of Amaya’s gestures. Too bad for her. But her next words surprised Amaya.

“My questions are in regard to your sister’s son. The one they call Callum.”

Amaya lunged at the pretty golden bars and half expected them to bend under her fury. She glared at the Sunfire with bared teeth, not only furious that Callum’s name had crossed the elf’s lips, but that the enemy seemed to know a lot more about her family than she did about the elf’s. She knew nothing about her enemy except that she was a ferocious fighter. How had the Sunfire gleaned so much information about Amaya, about Callum? She ripped her hands off the bars—since they were so stubbornly _not_ going to give way under her hands—and signed, _What do you know about Callum?_ Instinctively, she signed his nickname, C-book, but she regretted it immediately. She signed again, spelling his name out letter by letter: _Is Callum safe?_

Her captor didn’t follow all of those signs, either, but she got the gist. “I’m assuming you’re asking after the boy. He is alive. He is in Xadia.”

 _Xadia?_ Amaya spelled the word out, since the Standing Battalion’s slang for the magical land was a rude gesture. The elf stared at her hand in interest, and Amaya spelled it again, more slowly, followed by, _What the hell is he doing in Xadia?_

The Sunfire tilted her horns and gave Amaya a cynical look. “That is my question to you, human. Why have you sent a boy to invade our lands?”

Amaya’s face was pure outrage. Her hands flew. _What kind of a monster do you think I am? I would never send Callum into battle. The boy can barely hold a sword. And we don’t need kids to fight for us. If I want to kick your ass, I’ll do it myself. And I_ do _want to kick your ass, you pointy-horned bitch._

Apparently the Sunfire had been studying Amaya—and her ASL—across the lava river for longer than just prep for this kidnapping mission, because she definitely recognized several of those signs. Her face didn’t react with more than a quick squint, but the water in the metal cup began to steam and quickly rose to a rolling boil.

Amaya stepped back from the burn danger, but her captor just held the cup—and eye contact—until the water boiled entirely away. Only then did she withdraw it and place it back on its little tray. Then she poured another cup of water from the pitcher.

When she turned back to Amaya, her expression was speculative. The pale markings on the skin around her eyes flexed as she raised her eyebrows. She offered the cup toward Amaya. “How is it that your kind can learn primal magic?”

 _I don’t know what that is._ Amaya’s hands were dismissive.

“ _Our_ magic, woman.” The vibrato in the elf’s voice ratcheted up a notch, tickling Amaya’s lungs from the inside. “Your Callum has been seen performing Sky magic. How did you make this happen?”

_Don’t you “woman” me, Cow. You’re just making that up. Callum can’t do magic._

The elf copied the sign for cow, resting her thumb against her temple, and stared suspiciously up at her extended third finger as it simulated a single horn. “This means what? ‘Elf’?”

Amaya smirked and nodded.

The Sunfire squinted at her flatly. “No, it doesn’t.”

Amaya repeated the gesture and pointed at the elf with a smug look.

She responded by boiling another cup of Amaya’s drinking water in front of her. “Careful. It gets thirsty up here in the middle of the day.”

 _Then it gets thirsty. I have nothing for you_. She turned her back on the elf, done talking.

An uneven thudding through the sand made her glance back over her shoulder. Someone else was climbing the stairs. Suspicious that she was about to be double teamed, Amaya turned back around. The metal rope around her wrists pulled taut, and the bell’s weight swung with a light tug.

The elf that slowly made his way up the stairs wasn’t a typical Sunfire. Amaya had seen enough Sunfire horns to know their typical patterns, and this elf’s were something different. Something _green_. Yet his coloring and clothes seemed at least partly Sunfire. However, the markings on his cheeks gleamed like fresh leaves in sunlight and curled like blackberry vines. That was definitely not a Sunfire thing. Neither was the blue and silver pendant he wore around his neck, peeping through the front of his yellow coat.

Her eyes fell to his feet, and she discovered the reason for the odd thudding she’d sensed: one of his feet was made of metal.

_Well, there’s something you don’t see every day._

He glanced curiously at her, and she suspiciously at him, but it seemed he had come for the other elf, not for her. As he crossed the tower floor, Amaya read exhaustion and pain in his body language. He kept his hands tucked in his yellow coat’s pockets as if he were freezing. Maybe he was ill.

“Janai, I need to talk to you. Now.” He stood a bare inch shorter than her captor. She filed away the Sunfire knight’s name.

“I am busy, Kuta. Come back later.”

Amaya squinted. The Sunfire’s voice vibrated differently when she talked to this elf than when she talked to Amaya. _What’s that mean?_

The green-horn didn’t even react to her terse tone. “I may not have a later. That’s the first thing I need to talk to you about.” With difficulty, he pulled his left hand from its pocket and showed it to her.

Janai and Amaya both widened their eyes in surprise. Kuta’s left hand was stiff, swollen, and far darker in color than the rest of his skin. It looked like it was _dying_.

Janai didn’t seem sympathetic so much as furious.  “You utter cinder. What have you done? I told you not to—” She broke off and glared at Amaya, who offered her a knowing smirk.

 _Yes, I am reading your lips, Cow_ , she signed.

After gracing Amaya with a hot squint, Janai turned her back and took Kuta’s arm in her hands. Amaya couldn’t read any more of their conversation for the moment. She got the gist that the heavy-foot, Kuta, was asking for help, and that Janai couldn’t offer any. Or maybe didn’t really want to. Their relationship was hard to work out without more intel.

Then Janai stepped away from Kuta and drew her sunforge sword with her left hand, right there in the little tower room. Amaya stepped back involuntarily, feeling vulnerable without her armor on. But the Sunfire turned to Kuta and held out her hand. He gingerly shrugged off his coat and let it fall behind him. Amaya could see that some kind of yellow binding was strapped around his left bicep, cutting off his circulation. He willingly placed his damaged arm in Janai’s outstretched hand.

 _She’s gonna cut his arm off. What am I even looking at right now? Barbaric monsters!_ Amaya raised her hands to her cheeks, ready to cover her eyes. The bell around her bonds rang, alerting the elves.

They both looked over. Kuta said to Janai, “You put a bell on her? Really?”

“Says the elf who gave himself a clinky foot and hasn’t fixed it,” she replied. “Hold still. This will burn you.”

“Do it.” Kuta closed his eyes and looked away.

Amaya was ready to look away, too, but the way Janai moved her arm, it was clear the elf wasn’t intending to lop off any body parts. She gingerly slid the tip of her blade against the yellow binding as if trying to cut or burn it off.

It didn’t budge. She tried again, laying the blade’s edge along the length of the slender ribbon, but the strange cloth would not part.

 _Magic_. Amaya drew back. She held no truck with Lord Viren’s dark ways. If this harmful magic was elven in nature, she didn’t want anything to do with it, either.

“Ash and soot,” Janai swore. Amaya’s chest thudded with the depth of Janai’s voice. The elf slid her blade back into its sheath with a little more force than necessary. “I warned you not to get this involved.”

Kuta slammed his good fist against his chest and glared back at her. “ _You_ warned me? _You_ got me involved! _You_ sent him to me!” He jabbed a graceful finger at her. “Technically, this is all _your_ fault!”

Amaya’s eyes widened at the shaggy-haired elf’s outburst. Janai and other Sunfires Amaya had fought were controlled and focused. This elf seemed far more open with his feelings. Perhaps she could use that somehow.

Janai, for her part, merely smoldered at Kuta for a long moment. A muscle in her jaw tightened and then released. “I will see what I can find in the Corona’s healing rooms. Wait here until I return.”

Kuta turned his back to Amaya, but his gesture in her direction was clear enough.

Janai, halfway to the stairs, turned back to him with a straight face. “Yes. With her. You may not defenestrate her. She has not yet answered my questions.”

Kuta and Amaya both glanced toward the open wall. Amaya swallowed hard. 

Janai glided down the smooth stone stairs, leaving Kuta and Amaya to stare at each other warily.

Amaya swung the bell once around its metal cord. Kuta’s eyes dropped to it. She swung it again. And again.

His eyes lifted to hers in a flat look.

She smiled. Swung her bell.

He managed to stand the constant ringing for about ten minutes before he held up his good hand in surrender. Then he eased closer and waved for her to step close to the bars, too.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You’re not a cat,” he said. “I can take off the bell.”

 _Take off the rope_ , she signed.

“What? What’s that, with the hands? You’re not a dark mage, are you?”

Amaya coughed an unexpected laugh. _I’m Deaf. This is how I talk._

Internally, she thought, _He has no idea what I’m saying, does he? Might as well be talking to Bait._

But Kuta stilled and began to study her intently.

Instinctively, Amaya did the same. Her eyes landed on his pendant. Four crescent moons centered on a circle of cloudy blue stone. She blinked in shock. _Moonshadow? Where did he get that?_

His eyes flicked from her face to her hands to her bare feet in the dark red sand before returning to meet her gaze. “You’re worried sick. I get that, more than you could possibly know. Someone I love is in terrible danger. I just want to help. But I’m stuck here. Like you.”

Amaya blinked, entirely caught off guard. _How did you know that?_ she signed.

Again, the red-haired elf studied her quietly. “I’m good with feelings. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

To test him, Amaya didn’t sign at all. She let her disbelief flood her mind.

One corner of Kuta’s mouth drew up in a wry smile. “I understand why you don’t trust me. We live along the border. We only see each other’s worst traits. But I have no reason to hurt you. Not you personally.”

Amaya felt a tendril of fear rise up from deep in her gut. The elf was practically reading her mind! Could he suss out details about Callum? _No, don’t think about Callum!_ Could he pull tactical plans— _Rrrgh, stop thinking, Amaya!_

“Wait. What are you hiding?” Kuta’s pale red brows lowered.

Amaya quickly turned her back on him and tried to calm her breathing. The skin on her back prickled, though, as if she could feel the touch of the elf’s mind. _Um, Gren. Think about Gren. All those cute little freckles. Cinnamon sprinkles. The most earnest cinnamon sprinkles on the planet. He puts cinnamon sprinkles on his cinnamon rolls and calls them Gren rolls, and he always gives me the first one._

Kuta circled the cage until he stood in front of Amaya again. “You know something, don’t you? Something Janai wants from you.”

Amaya shook her head. She truly had no answers to the Sunfire’s questions. Only more questions of her own. _Gren should have written to me by now and can reliably be expecting me to kick his ass in the wrestling ring. Again._

Kuta squinted at her, probing. “Something else you don’t want her to know. Who _are_ you?”

Amaya set her jaw and turned around again. The cage began to feel protective rather than restrictive. _Gren, did you find Callum? Where are you? No, no thoughts about Callum! This is not how I want to do my fighting. Just give me something to punch or stab! If he learns about Callum, or Harrow’s death—No! Stop! Cinnamon sprinkles, cinnamon sprinkles!_

Kuta circled once again, coming back to the gate of her prison. He wore a dangerous smile, hard and flinty, and his firelight eyebrows rode low over cool amber irises.

He said nothing, just made sure she was watching. Then he reached down to his prosthetic leg. A small panel opened up just in time for him to pluck a slender metal pick from within it.

He tipped his dark green horns and waggled the pick. “I don’t believe in locks.”

Amaya glanced around, judging the size of her cage. Fighting in here would be cramped, but if he left the door open behind him, she stood a good chance of—

Kuta tripped the lock and pushed the gate open. He dropped the pick into its slot without looking down, and the panel closed. He took another step toward her. “I don’t like to fight. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” His lips firmed into a determined line.

Amaya set her teeth and flexed her hands. She was going to have to get scrappy.

As the elf took his next step, his metal leg clicked heavily. A slender dagger fired point-first up into the air from another hidden slot, and he caught its handle with his good hand.

Amaya’s eyes bugged. _Cheating_ , she signed roughly.

Kuta twitched as her emotional reaction hit him. An inescapable sadness flickered across his face and hardened back into fury. He pointed at her with his dagger. “This is _your_ fault, and I’m going to make you pay for it,” he hissed.

Amaya took a deep step backward in the sand and held up one hand with a smirk. Her fingers beckoned.

Kuta lunged with a wild swipe, but his bad arm couldn’t counterbalance him properly. He tipped off balance and staggered, and Amaya easily blocked his arm. He spun like a flicked coin, though, and backstabbed at her from the other direction. Amaya barely got her forearms up in time to block his second strike. A lucky grab enabled her to strip the slender dagger from his grip, but it also slipped from hers and skittered through the bars and onto the stone floor.

Kuta bared his teeth and spun back the other way. His chest was already heaving with labored breaths, and Amaya felt a ray of hope gleaming down on her. She swung with her right arm, intending for her fist to catch his cheek before he even saw her punch coming.

Instead, he caught her fist in his hand. Easily.

Amaya’s eyes flicked from his powerful grip around her fist, to his glowering golden eyes, and back to his hand. His face was lined with pain, but his fury painted heavier strokes. He was absolutely going to win this fight unless Amaya could—

Suddenly a pair of dark hands grabbed Kuta’s horns and twisted, driving his head like a wheelbarrow. Janai had stepped into the cage to rescue her.

_My hero. Bet she didn’t see that coming when she threw me in here. I sure didn’t._

 

***

 

Janai nearly dropped the jar of sunleeches when she saw Kuta slashing at Amaya inside the hotcage she’d ordered built in the privacy of the Corona’s Sun-speaking tower. She set down the container of glowing creatures that lazed through a couple inches of hot spring water and stalked in to stop him from killing her information source before he brought the wrath of Sol Regem down on them both.

She was so furious with him that she grabbed him by the horns without hesitation and jerked his head away from Amaya, driving him out of the cage like an unruly goat. Taking an elf by the horns without their permission was a great insult—taking them by the horns _with_ permission was something else entirely—but Kuta had crossed a line that she had _very specifically_ told him not to cross.

She shoved him to his knees, ignoring his cry of pain as his swollen arm jostled, and yanked the cage gate shut behind her, locking Amaya in again. She spared a quick, hot glare for the human general.

Amaya looked at her with something akin to amusement. A quick flick of her fingers from her lips said _Thanks_. Then she followed with what Janai assumed to translate to _But I had him._

Janai glanced down at Kuta, then back to Amaya. She shook her horns every so slightly. _No, you didn’t._

Amaya held out her hands as if to say, _We’ll never know, will we?_

Janai frowned and turned back to the infuriating tinker. “Fool of a cinder!” she hissed. “What did I say? I said ‘do not kill the prisoner.’”

“You s-said, do not _defenestrate_ the prisoner. There’s a difference.” Kuta had begun shivering.

Janai needed a few moments to get her frustration under control so she didn’t defenestrate Kuta despite her secret affection for him. “Come over here. I found something.” She half-dragged Kuta to the round inner wall of the tower and set his back against it.

He cradled his purpling wrist in his right hand as she fetched the container. “Sunleeches?”

Janai lifted the jar’s lid and pulled a bright yellow leech out of the hot water with a pair of wooden tongs that hung from a string around the jar’s neck. “This will not cure you. But it will give you time.”

Kuta’s eyes flicked from the sunleech to her face. “Time is exactly what I need.” He lifted his swollen arm with his other hand.

Janai set the glowing creature gently on Kuta’s index finger.

He flinched under the tiny weight and hissed through his teeth. The sunleech set its tiny mouth against the taut, mottled skin of Kuta’s finger and bit into him. Its inch-long body began to swell and glow like a stream of molten rock in the Corona’s court.

They both watched its body stretch. “How big do they get?” Kuta asked.

“I’m more concerned with how quickly it’s filling. Another leech, I think, before this one pops,” Janai said. She fetched out one more sunleech, and another, and another, until she’d placed them all along Kuta’s arm and hand.

Soon Kuta had ten incandescent sunleeches radiating light from his left arm. The first one detached safely, and Janai caught it in her hand. It had grown to the length and thickness of her third finger. The others let go as they filled their tiny little bellies, too.

“How do you feel?” Janai asked as she plopped the last fat leech back into its hot-water home.

Kuta examined his arm, and his fingers, which bore little red spots that still oozed. “That’s amazing. It really helped. You honor me, Janai. I am grateful for your help, more than you can know.”

Janai’s eyes flickered to the yellow Sun binding that was slowly killing him. “I think I know how grateful you are, tinker. You bound yourself for that Moonshadow.”

Kuta’s brows dropped as he focused intently on her. “And that’s the second thing I came to ask you. I wasn’t sure I’d live long enough to ask about it, but now I need to know. The Sun bindings, how exactly do they work?”

Janai closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. _Why do I care about this ice block, again?  He's hopeless, but he does make such pretty things._  “You bound yourself without even knowing what you were getting into? Between you and the human, one of you is getting defenestrated tomorrow, and the odds are starting to swing in your favor.”

Kuta pursed his lips and tilted his green horns at her. “I _know_ what my books say. I don’t know if there are _exceptions_.”

“Exceptions?”

“The Sun-binding ritual I performed stated that one binding was to be used for life. The other was for health.”

Janai sighed. She was as familiar with the old rituals as anyone at the palace. They had thankfully fallen out of favor sometime after the old war. But the Corona never gave up a potential advantage. “Yes. I know.”

Kuta leaned forward from the wall. “Janai. The one that fell off wasn’t the _health_ binding.”

Janai’s dark brows lowered. “That’s impossible.”

Kuta’s look thanked her for finally joining him in his puzzling dilemma. “Hence, exceptions.”

Janai looked from Kuta’s left arm to his right, and back again. _Health, but no Life?_ Out of sheer confusion, she reached out to touch the binding, but she pulled back, not wishing to hurt Kuta.

“Have you _ever_ heard of a case where the elf that one is bound to has health but no life? Please.”

“I haven’t.” Her eyes found Kuta’s. “What do you think it means, tinker?”

“Only one thing.” Kuta’s eyes slid to Amaya, who had been silently watching them the whole time. “Dark magic.”

Janai’s eyes widened. “Is that why you disobeyed me?”

“No. Let me barter you for your help with what I learned from her.”

Janai raised a dark eyebrow. “She talked to you while I was off starting a sunleech farm?”

Kuta shrugged his good shoulder. “Of a sort. She has a strong connection to her family. She is very protective of two young boys, and she has filial and familial ties to the King of Katolis.”

Janai blinked slowly. She’d been hoping for more. “I know all this.”

His eyes hardened. “The King of Katolis is the one Runaan was sent to kill.”

Janai’s eyebrows rose, and she flicked a glance at Amaya, who stared hard at them from within her golden prison. “You were avenging him.”

“I, I honestly don’t know _what_ I’m doing.” Kuta glanced toward the Sun binding around his arm. “Runaan isn’t dead. But he is in trouble. I _need_ to help him.”

“And how do you think killing General Amaya of the Standing Battalion is going to help Runaan?”

Kuta hung his head, and his shaggy red-tipped hair covered his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I had no idea who she was. She started acting nervous, and I pried. I never expected to find a direct connection to Runaan. That’s not why you brought her, is it?”

“No. Sol Regem demands answers about her sister’s son, Callum. Apparently, the human child has recently come into possession of the Sky Arcanum. The Corona’s dragon ally is curious for answers as to how that may have come to pass.”

“He suspects dark magic played some part.”

“Naturally.”

Kuta shook his head. His color hadn’t improved much, but his demeanor had perked up. “She has no idea about any magic. She knows no more than you about Callum. She’s worried for him, protective.”

Janai sucked her lower lip into a pout and stared out the open wall. “That is not ideal.”

“Does Sol Regem know you were appointed to get answers from Amaya?”

Janai looked down. Steadied the sudden flutter in her gut. “Worse. I _volunteered_. I’ve studied her for years. I thought that she would be a prime source of information. Instead, I’ve put my head on the anvil.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better news.”

Her tone was soft. “You gave me more news than I’d hoped for, Kuta.”

Kuta’s tawny eyes softened. “I’m not sure you know how much I like it when you use my name.” he said faintly.

“I know your name,” she said reassuringly. “I call you tinker because—“

“I know why you call me tinker.”

Her voice dropped low. “Do you, though?”

Kuta’s eyes leaped to hers, searching. “Can I—” he began.

“No. It feels weird. I’m just going to tell you.”

“Okay, sure.” His expression hovered in breathless anticipation.

Janai took a deep breath. “My father raised me to appreciate the purity of beauty. Your art speaks to me, tinker. The way you make the light dance, with your gems and your metals, it moves me. I’ve never seen the Sun so beautiful as when it dances on your creations. Even this one.” Her finger pressed the center of the four crescent moons on his pendant. “I’m glad you got to know happiness. I hope you find a way to get it back.” She sighed and shivered, unused to sharing such a deep part of herself.

Kuta blinked up at her, starry-eyed. “Really?”

Her horns tipped with a hint of impatience. “Yes, really.”

The tinker had gotten all misty. “I… I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Please don’t.”

Kuta blew out a breath. “Well, I will happily settle for a glowing review for my work. Spread the good word?”

Janai offered a rare wry smile. “First, we must survive tomorrow.”

Kuta’s gaze sharpened. “Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?”

“Sol Regem is coming to hear what I have gleaned from the prisoner.”

Kuta blanched, and for a moment, he looked truly unwell. “Then I need to get home. The dragon makes me dizzy.”

“I can move you in the morning. But until then,” Janai pushed his good shoulder with two fingers, and Kuta slumped against the wall, unable to resist her movement. “Until then, you need to stay right here. You need time to recover, and this chamber will be unused until Sol Regem arrives. I will bring you blankets, and you will sleep here. You may need those leeches again very soon.” Janai reconsidered and added, “And I will bring myself blankets, too. You’re not very good at following instructions. You may get confused in the night and try to throw my prisoner out of the tower.”

“Well, this will be cozy,” Kuta murmured. “Just the three of us, snuggling down for a sleepover? Whatever will Sol Regem think when he arrives?”

Janai shot a sharp glance toward Amaya, then stared out of the open wall toward the distant mountains. “If you and I are very lucky, Kuta, he will decide that he has only one death to bring.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get to be soft and have a quiet moment to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me so soft I wanna die! I love my soft boys. I mean, I love it when they try to best each other, too, but... *sighhh* *heart eyes* ALL the feels up in here.

The second sword came into being a little more smoothly, at least on Runaan’s part, now that he knew what Kuta expected from him. He spent more time watching Kuta’s hands this time, trying to pick up when the tinker was using his magic. As Kuta quenched the blade one last time, Runaan leaned against an unused anvil and commented, “You have scars on your hands.”

Kuta glanced down at his hand as if he’d been unaware of the shiny brown burn spots. “Only half Sunfire, remember? It’s why I wear these forge-sleeves. When I was young and dumb, I thought the scars made me look cool. But I’ve since learned that I need to look out for my delicate skin. So: sleeves.”

Runaan’s fingers twitched. “You let yourself be hurt for people who despise you? Why?”

Kuta rested the freshly forged blade on a rack and began polishing it dry. “I told you. This is my home. Come on, Moonshadow. Are you telling me there isn’t anyone you’d take hurt for?”

Runaan had to work his way through the steps Kuta had glossed over in his logic. “You care for them so much you don’t mind the pain?”

“That’s what I said. You don’t have anyone like that in your life?” Kuta carefully didn’t look at Runaan as he asked, focusing intently on using the soft cloth in his hands.

Runaan’s mind flew to Rayla. Of course he’d take hurt for her. _Had_ taken hurt. Would take more hurt, if the New Moon Council decided that her mother—his sister, Cloda—was guilty of treason. “Yes. There is someone.”

“Oh.” Kuta’s voice was faint. “Well, that’s good. It’s good. You know what I mean, then.”

“I decided long ago, and again recently, that I would die for her if it came to that.”

Kuta looked over at that, and his cloth paused. “That’s pretty intense.”

Runaan met Kuta’s amber gaze. “So is our relationship.”

“Oh. Of course. Good.”

Runaan could feel Kuta’s confusion and hesitancy, though he didn’t entirely understand why the subject bothered the tinker so much. They had the Dragon Queen’s mission in common, after all. But perhaps it would benefit Kuta if Runaan spoke of Rayla. The tinker wanted to move forward with his grief. And the Moon Arcanum was one of constant motion.

He took a deep breath. “She’s my sister’s daughter. My sister, Cloda, was one of the Dragon Guard on duty the day of the invasion. Rayla and I only have each other, now. I will do whatever it takes to protect her, and to spare her whatever I can. She has been through enough. And yet, the Dragon Queen demands more of her. Possibly everything.” He felt his brows lower at the thought of the Dragon Queen’s directive.

Kuta’s eyes widened, and he set down the cloth. His expression was aghast. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Runaan. Why does she have to go with you?”

“She is a first-year Dragon Guard initiate. The Dragon Queen made no exceptions: everyone associated with the Dragon Guard must work to restore its honor. And that includes my fifteen-year-old niece.”

Kuta’s amber eyes flicked across Runaan’s face as if seeking answers. His hands were fidgety. “That’s, that’s not right. That’s not fair to her. I mean, yes, I want justice done for my father’s death, but not at the hands of a young girl! That’s not justice. That’s revenge.”

Perhaps something in Kuta’s Earthblood nature made him more susceptible to mirroring other’s emotions, for he looked on the outside as Runaan felt in his heart. “Easy.” Runaan laid a hand on Kuta’s shoulder to calm his agitation as if it would calm his own. “I will look after her. It’s what I’ve done all her life, whenever I was assigned to the academy. Eight Moonshadows on duty at the palace, one at the academy, training recruits. Rayla would stay in my quarters, had her own room there, and grew up around elves training to become Dragon Guard. What else was she supposed to do with her life, when her parents and her uncle were all in the corps?” A proud smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “She’s very skilled, Kuta. You should see her in training. I’ve never seen anyone as fast and as strong as she is, not at her age. I have trouble keeping up with her sometimes.”

Kuta did a double take. “You? You were all over my shield like moonlight flickering across a lake. How could anyone be faster than you?”

Runaan felt a warm glow at Kuta’s compliment. He hadn’t enjoyed his failure to best the tinker at sparring with sword versus shield. “I’ll be sure to ask Rayla to slow down so you can follow her movements.”

Kuta picked up his cloth again and fiddled with it. “I’d like that, I really would. Seeing her fight, I mean. And you can stop condescending to me about your Moonshadow reflexes. I get it. You’re quick.”

Runaan slid his turquoise gaze to Kuta and blinked like a smug cat.

Kuta shook his head with a wry smile. But a moment later, his light red eyebrows drooped. “Is that feasible, though?”

Time pressed in on Runaan, and the pleasant bubble of his imagination popped. “I don’t suppose you have some kind of portable forge?”

Kuta’s expression softened, and golden flecks in his irises gleamed. “I would love to come with you and help your friends. Honestly, nothing would be better. But…”

“But you don’t. And this is your home.” Runaan dipped his horns to the side. He could not ask Kuta to leave his village for an extended period. Kuta loved his home. He was anchored here. Even if his neighbors treated him like mud.

Then the tinker brightened. “Could your trainees come to me?”

Runaan’s eyes turned east, toward the New Moon Council. “Not as long as the trial continues. No one is allowed into the council’s chamber until they have concluded their investigation and deliberations. And none can say how many days they will be sequestered. I should not ask the trainees to travel here when we may get word of our targets at any moment, though we could as easily wait for their judgment for another season.”

Kuta’s expression was wry. “Somehow I expected more certainty from a crack assassin squad.”

Runaan’s sudden reply was sharp. “I do not like the term _assassins_.”

Kuta’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Our targets may well call us that. The humans surely would. But there is more to what we do than simply killing. There is honor in it. We do not strike in vengeance, for sport, or to gain power. Our duty will be bound to justice and sanctioned by law.” A low blue fire smoldered in his eyes. “And then, Moon willing, we will be done with it.”

“You’ve never killed anyone before?” Kuta asked curiously.

Runaan’s gaze hooded as he made eye contact. “I did not say that.”

Kuta’s eyes flickered over Runaan, clearly reevaluating him. His results seemed mixed. “Is it difficult?”

“Taking life? Yes. It should never be done lightly.” Runaan tipped his horns thoughtfully. “The value, the weight, of a life held in your hand should always be acknowledged, even if it must be taken. You must acknowledge the weight if you claim the taking.” He held up his hand as if weighing a soul, and he studied it, recalling times when he had done exactly that. “One cannot happen without the other. If you feel nothing for your act, you have not taken. You have _lost_.”

Kuta shivered as if Runaan’s words had prickled his spine. “Thank you for explaining. I think that makes me feel better about my father’s death.”

Runaan’s eyebrows lifted, and he felt the tension around his eyes ease. “I have told you about Rayla. Would you like to tell me about your father?”

A mischievous, sad smile tugged at Kuta’s lips, and his horntips winked as he nodded. “My dad was such a generous elf. His name was Karthaza. He served the Dragon King as an ambassador from the Earthblood tribe. Did you ever meet him at the palace?”

Runaan thought a moment. “I saw him in passing, now and again. Guarding the egg of the Dragon Prince was a relatively solitary position, but if I remember right, Karthaza had a garden.”

Kuta’s face lit up. “Yes, that was him! He grew anything and everything in that garden. Always had way too much food. Gave it away like nobody’s business.”

Runaan smiled, remembering. “His moonberries were huge.”

“Everything he grew was amazing. He was in charge of shepherding supplicants before the Dragon King. His strong empathy allowed him to read their moods and improve them, if he needed to, before they met the king. Fewer elves and dragons got tossed out on their ear once my father started attending to them beforehand. And he tried never to let anyone leave court without a basket of free produce.”

Kuta’s smile was easy and reminiscent. Runaan could almost feel his father’s spirit radiating through him. “He sounds like a true friend to all.”

“That was Dad.” Kuta looked down. “He died in the great assault on the palace. His life was…”

Runaan reached out and squeezed Kuta’s wrist, though more gently then Kuta had done to Runaan. “I know. You don’t have to tell me.”

But tears were already edging Kuta’s warm honey eyes. “The humans, they _used him up_ , Runaan. They burned him as _fuel_ for the spell that slew the Dragon King. Him, the other courtiers, servants, anyone unlucky enough to be standing too close. I have nothing…” His chest heaved with a shuddering breath. “I have nothing left of him. Nothing to bury in the earth, nothing to return to the soil he loved. Earthbloods treasure the cycle of growth, decay, and quickening, but I cannot honor my father’s traditions now. The humans _stole_ that from me, Runaan. They stole my _father_.” He swiped at his eyes.

Runaan sat quietly in the face of Kuta’s grief. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what you have lost, and for my part in it.”

Kuta looked up sharply. The side of his finger gleamed with wet tears he’d just brushed away. “You had no part in my father’s death, Runaan. I would never think—I would _never_ — You’re putting things right. As right as they can be put.”

Runaan offered a short nod as he held Kuta’s gaze. “I will do my best. For your father, and for Rayla.”

Kuta nodded silently. His eyes welled again.

Runaan looked down, then back at the Sun-blood. Kuta was a powerful metalsmith, but his feelings were just as strong, if not stronger. Runaan didn’t feel he had anything to offer Kuta in that moment. “Would you rather be alone right now?”

Kuta’s hand flew toward Runaan of its own accord. “No, no. I’m glad you’re here. If that’s not too weird. Like I said, Sunfires burn their emotions, and Earthbloods wear them on their sleeves. I’m lost in between. With you here, it’s like I can see a better picture of myself. I can see where I need to guide my feelings. Like a newly quickened seed, caught in the soil, searching for the sun. I haven’t been able to grieve for my father by myself. I haven’t even been able to cry.” His eyes lingered on the tears clinging to his finger. “I’ve been stuck in denial and anger. But since you showed up on my doorstep… I think I need you.” Kuta stumbled ahead, adding, “Need someone else, another elf, to” —he gestured between himself and Runaan in a back-and-forth motion— “bounce myself off of, if that makes any sense. Maybe it doesn’t, I don’t know. I’ve never lost a parent before.” Kuta buried his face in his hands and let out a wet sigh.

Runaan had lost both his parents. He knew exactly what Kuta was feeling, and he wouldn’t wish anyone to feel that enormity alone. He’d had Cloda back then. Before she betrayed him, and everyone in Xadia, he had leaned heavily on her strength, and she on his. They’d had each other. But Kuta seemed to be alone in this village, emotionally speaking. He needed someone to lean on. Someone to steady him as the cycle of grief carried him forward.

“Then I will stay.”

Kuta, face still in his hands, nodded wordlessly.

Runaan felt the urge to reach out. Uncertainty screamed at him—he was crossing tribal lines and who knew what other boundaries. And those didn’t even address his own feelings about touching and being touched. He barely knew this elf, but he had known his father. Kuta seemed to trust at the drop of a flower petal. For Runaan, trust was the reward at the end of a long and arduous sparring session. And yet, Kuta was his father’s son. Runaan realized that he already trusted Kuta—the son of the most empathic ambassador in the Dragon King’s court—to understand what Runaan’s touch would mean in that moment.

He lay a hand on Kuta’s trembling shoulder. “I will stay with you.” His fingers pressed against the warm gleams of green that marked Kuta’s shoulder, inviting him closer.

With a sob, Kuta melted into his chest and wrapped his arms around Runaan’s waist so tightly that Runaan felt a rib creak. He winced against the strength of Kuta’s need for touch, his need to be held, and wrapped his long arms around the tinker, holding him as tightly as he dared.

The tears started slowly. Runaan felt Kuta’s chest shudder softly against his own. Heard him keening against Runaan’s shoulder. Felt hot tears soak through his tunic. Kuta tucked his horns carefully away from Runaan’s neck as he rested his head on Runaan’s shoulder and wept.

Runaan had held Rayla as she cried sometimes, when she was young, before she learned how to be hard. She had found it soothing when he hummed. So he slid a hand to the back of Kuta’s head, gently smoothed the Sun-blood’s unruly red-tipped hair, and hummed a low note deep in his chest.

Kuta’s breath caught, and he tensed in Runaan’s arms. Runaan glanced down at him. “Yes? No?”

Kuta’s wet eyes met his. They gleamed like fresh honey and sparks of pure sunlight. And though his face still wore its pain, a smile trembled around the edges of his lips like a butterfly seeking to land. “Yes. Please.” He turned his face into Runaan’s shoulder again, and Runaan held him close and hummed for him until his tears finally stopped.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running short on options in her Sunfire cage, Amaya receives an unexpected visitor that could change everything. Not just for her, but for Kuta and Janai as well.

Amaya sat warily in the middle of her sand circle until sundown, expecting the curious nosing of Heavy-foot’s mind every few minutes. But it never came again. Instead, Janai made him a nest of blankets right near the open wall, and he fell into a fitful rest, waking twice to attach more of those glowing leeches to his injured arm. Janai vanished down the stairs after bringing herself a separate load of blankets and depositing them near Kuta’s. Hers, Amaya noted, seemed more personalized, shot through with red metallic glints and topped with a woven throw that was edged with a row of tiny, sparkling crystals.

Kuta saw the crystals when he woke next, and a soft smile came over his face. Amaya frowned, trying to puzzle out this elf. Janai she knew somewhat, but Kuta was different from her in more ways than Amaya could guess at. He’d stalked the edges of her feelings, yet he got all squishy over a decoration he’d given to Janai. She’d assume he was sweet on her if he weren’t wearing that Moonshadow pendant. _Where did you get that, Kuta? Moonshadows are the worst._ The only Moonshadows Amaya knew of were the assassins who had… Amaya’s frown deepened, and she broke off the thought. _Are you in love with a murderer, Kuta?_

As the sun set, the Sunfire knight returned. She settled near Kuta and shared food with him—baked meats and seared vegetables. It smelled really good, and Amaya’s tummy rumbled, though she gave no outward sign of her hunger.

Neither of the elves spoke to Amaya, though they shot her watchful glances every now and again. Janai went right to sleep as the twilight faded from the sky, but Amaya could see the glint in Kuta’s wakeful eyes as he lay among his blankets, thumb caressing that pendant. The elf had invaded her mind. She wouldn’t forget that anytime soon. He may have been seeking to save someone he loved, and that was noble and all, but whoever he loved had helped kill her king—her brother-in-law—and she fully intended to return his favor with the nearest sharp object at the soonest opportunity.

Eventually Kuta drifted off, his hand still clasping that pendant, and Amaya felt safe enough to try dozing. She lay on her back in the center of the sand pit and stared up at the curving slice of sky that gleamed down at her through the tower’s pointed roof. Stars twinkled overhead, and the waxing half-moon tilted its smooth white curve toward the western horizon. Callum and Ezran were somewhere beneath these same stars. Somewhat frivolously, Amaya wished on them, that they would look after her boys while she couldn’t. _Just for a little bit, and then I’ll be back on the job._

A soft flicker of pure blackness against the starry sky drew her out of her half-sleep. Wings fluttered through the ceiling gap and down into her cell, and a night-dark crow landed with a soft puff of sand beside her head.

Instinctively, Amaya twitched away, but her eyes found the note on the crow’s leg, and she nearly forgot about her bell in her haste to retrieve the parchment. With one hand, she silenced her personal dangling alarm, and with the other, she reached out to the bird.

Katolis crows were raised by hand—by Corvus’s hand—and trained to approach and deliver their messages without fail, no matter the circumstances they found themselves in. They had an excellent memory for human faces and a strange instinct that always led them to their targets. But this crow hesitated as Amaya reached out. Its head cocked this way and that, and it seemed to be studying its strange new surroundings with trepidation, as if baffled to find Amaya here instead of in her usual quarters across the Breach.

Still holding her bell, Amaya clumsily signed, _Standing Battalion HQ, it ain’t._

To her amusement, the crow seemed to give a pragmatic shrug before walking through the sand and into her hands. Amaya quickly detached the note and unrolled a pair of slender parchment strips.

The note was penned in Corvus’s neat hand, and its report on refitting water casks was so ordinary in nature that Amaya knew he had concealed a further message somewhere else on the tiny pages. Her eyes found the ceiling slit again.

Still a little moonlight falling through.

She rose, bell clasped into silence, and raised her hands into the angled light on the far edge of her cell, holding the little parchment still. Slowly, as the moon’s light seeped into the little strips of paper, pale blue script flickered to life. With a confident half-smile, she read Corvus’s true message.

 

_General,_

  _The Tart-eater has returned home. His father’s fate is not as final as we were led to believe. Poppycock stands accused of high treason and other crimes. The Artist is believed to have crossed the eastern border, in the company of a trusted companion. You may consider sending your own choice to join him. Lastly, news of your Voice. He is well enough now, but Poppycock imprisoned him before he could undertake the mission you gave him. Your Voice has much to say—in fact, he doesn’t know when to shut up—but his most interesting story involves Poppycock’s coin purse and an assassin who never slew his target. We’re searching the couch cushions now, hoping for a complete story of the night the full moon rose._

 

Amaya read the note again, and then a third time, making sure she understood the deep and troubling import of the Crow Lord’s words. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the news that Harrow might not be dead—there had been a body, a funeral. But she trusted Corvus, so he must have learned something—probably something to do with magic. She didn’t want to get her hopes up or anything, but if information was still missing about the assassins’ attack, she was all for Corvus investigating.

 Ezran had returned home… but Callum was indeed in Xadia, just as Janai had said. Amaya’s gut twisted hard. What sort of “trusted companion” would the boy be with, that Corvus would not even deign to write it in a hidden message?

 _The young assassin._ Amaya’s entire chest clenched at the thought. Her brow furrowed with angry incredulity. Yet, she trusted Corvus with her life. She had trusted him to retrieve her boys if it was at all possible. And he had indeed brought Ezran home safely.

But not Callum. _Why didn’t you bring Callum, Corvus_? Amaya’s teeth clenched.

_I need to ask him that question in person. I need to get out of here. My boys need me._

Amaya’s hands drooped to waist level as she pondered desperately, staring at nothing with her bare feet on the cool sand. _Everything is a weapon when you’re desperate enough._

Her eyes drifted to the only two assets in the room, besides the crow: The Sunfire knight and the tinker.

Kuta’s words drifted back to her mind. _“You’re worried sick. I get that, more than you could possibly know. Someone I love is in terrible danger. I just want to help. But I’m stuck here. Like you.”_

Her eyes widened as the first pale blue inklings of a plan formed in her mind, and she lifted the note into the moonlight again.

_Your Voice has much to say—in fact, he doesn’t know when to shut up—but his most interesting story involves Poppycock’s coin purse and an assassin who never slew his target._

Tingles prickled down Amaya’s bare arms as her plan came together. _Could it work?_ She shot a speculative glance at the sleeping elves. She’d be willing to postpone that smack to Kuta’s head if she could convince him to go along with her crazy idea. _Only one way to find out._

She took her hand off her bell. Gave it a swing. Then another.

 

***

 

Janai woke to the irritating ring of a bell, feeling groggy and resenting whatever sunlight logic had convinced her that the small metal alarm was in any way a good idea. Her powers lay dormant, beyond the horizon, and all she could muster was an exhausted curse under her breath. With a frustrated grunt, she heaved herself upright and stalked over to the cell’s delicate metal bars.

Amaya stopped ringing her bell. She signed something that probably asked if Janai had slept well, if the sassy grin on her face was any indication.

“What do you want, woman?” Janai mouthed, not wanting to wake Kuta.

Somehow, the general knew she had formed her words silently, because her eyes flicked to Janai’s torso, and then past her to the sleeping tinker. But she recovered and sunnily waved two small strips of paper at her.

A message.

From the shadowed heights of the cell bars, feathers rustled quietly. Janai looked up and spotted a messenger crow. Its black eye reflected the moonlight as it looked down at her.

Wordlessly, Janai held out her hand. If General Amaya was receiving intel, she needed to know about it. Perhaps it could save Janai’s neck in the morning.

To her surprise, Amaya didn’t immediately protect the note. Instead, she pointed to Kuta and waved as if to summon him. Then she gestured as if she would give the note to him.

Janai mouthed, “He’s ill. I’m not waking him. Give it to me.” Her fingers flared wide, demanding the message.

Daringly, Amaya stepped close enough to wrap one hand around the bars, while holding the tiny strips of paper in a tight fist. Her dark eyes held Janai’s with an intensity that shivered the Sunfire’s skin. With a flick of her hand, she pressed the top paper to her tongue, rolled it against her mouth, and swallowed it.

Janai lurched forward, and her hands came down hot on the bars. Her eyes burned into Amaya’s.

 The general stepped back, opened her mouth, and held up the second strip. Her threat was clear.

Janai’s lip curled, but she slowly surrendered, lifting her hands in a harmless gesture and stepping back from the delicate metal tracery that separated them.

Amaya pointed to Kuta again for emphasis.

Janai nodded. _This bitch knows how to play hard._ She backed toward Kuta and crouched beside him. He’d only been asleep for a couple of hours, and she didn’t enjoy the thought of dragging him out of his much-needed slumber. But their lives might be forfeit in the morning. Did anything truly matter in the face of that?

She shook the tinker awake, but gently. “Kuta. I need your help.”

Kuta hadn’t been as deeply asleep as she thought, though, because he came to full consciousness with a deep breath and fixed his eyes on her. “What’s wrong?”

“Not sure. But our guest wants to give you something. A messenger crow came for her in the night. Apparently page two is for you.”

Kuta closed his eyes in utter exhaustion and confusion, and Janai worried that he hadn’t heard her. But he opened them again, looking toward Amaya’s cell, and just said, “Neat.”

She gave him a moment to slip his metal leg on and then helped him to his feet.

“Don’t try to kill her this time, tinker. I mean it. This could be vital information.”

“It could also be poisoned parchment.”

“Not likely. She ate page one.” Janai’s hand came down heavy on his shoulder and squeezed. “Focus, Kuta. If we don’t survive tomorrow, then there is no hope for saving Runaan. I know you’re sick and tired, but you need to think clearly in this moment.”

Runaan’s name seemed to trigger the desired response. Kuta’s jaw firmed, and his firelight brows lowered. He trod toward the cell bars with a soft clink in his right step, until he stood just out of reach of the prisoner. Janai hung back another couple of steps, ready to interfere on the tinker’s behalf. And possibly on Amaya’s.

Wordlessly, Amaya held a small strip of paper into the moonlight that angled through her cell. She pointed at it emphatically, then—to Kuta’s and Janai’s surprise—offered it to him through the cell bars. She gave it an impatient shake after he took too long to pluck it from her fingers.

Kuta glanced from the note to Amaya’s face. His eyes flicked toward the moonlight behind her. “Moonwriting. Humans use moonwriting?” A flicker of softness stole across his features. He snatched the note from her fingers with delicate precision and strode as quickly as he could toward the large opening in the tower wall.

“What’s moonwriting?” Janai asked, following him into the wash of moonlight.

Kuta turned the note right side up and let it soak up the pale light. “Ink made with moonflower extract. It’s invisible unless you hold it in the moonlight.” His shoulders sagged for a moment, and his eyes tightened as if he were in pain.

Janai read his pain and respectfully gave him a moment. His familiarity with the Moonshadow message technique was clear. Then, “I see them. Look.”

Blue lettering spilled across the parchment, dancing between the deep black ink. Kuta lifted the tiny strip and read the new words. Janai horned in on his right side, reading over his shoulder.

Her eyes widened. “An assassin who never slew his target? Kuta…”

“ _Runaan_.” The assassin’s name was a prayer, and Kuta stumbled to his knees, leaning one hand against the cold stone floor for balance. Janai dropped with him, a hand on his back lest he tumble out the opening and splatter across the Corona’s flagstones far below. “Please, let it be him. Please.” Soft drops fell onto the dark stone, leaving even darker circles in the bright moonlight.

Janai’s eyes lingered on the teardrops. Her hand offered Kuta’s back a burst of comforting heat. “He’s still in the castle. Maybe lost or hidden. And it seems her Voice knows more than the message says.”

Kuta swiped at his eyes. “Who is her Voice?”

Janai kept her face away from Amaya this time. She’d had enough of spilling secrets to the canny general. “Commander Gren. One of Amaya’s closest advisors. He’s usually stationed with the Standing Battalion, but he’s been missing for a few weeks. It seems he’s been lurking about Katolis castle, as well. If you can find him, he will have answers.”

Kuta sat down on one hip and looked back at Amaya. “She’s good. I can see why she’s in charge.”

Janai looked inquiringly between him and her prisoner.

Kuta’s tawny eyes lit in the moonlight as he looked at her. “She eavesdropped on us earlier, when we were talking about Runaan. She gave me that note for a reason.”

Janai slid Amaya a calculating look. The human merely waited, hands behind her back, eyes cool. Her poise had always made her worth studying, but seeing it up close was truly impressive. “She wants out,” Janai said. “She’s offering herself as a guide, to get you safely to her Voice. You can’t trust her, tinker.”

“I don’t. But I’m taking her with me anyway.” His gaze bounced from the cage to Janai’s face again. “And I’m taking you, too.”

Janai snorted. “What? You are not.”

“I am. You have to come with me, Janai. It’s not safe for you here. Not once the sun rises. You guard the general and try your best to keep me from dying before we reach the castle, and I keep an eye on her when you sleep, so she doesn’t kill us both. She gets to try and betray us at the last minute, you get to survive Sol Regem’s wrath, and I get to find Runaan. We all win.”

Janai considered Amaya with a tilt of her horns. She turned back to Kuta and asked, “Is it winning if we die in sight of the enemy castle, though?”

Kuta’s eyes glimmered like pale gold in the moon’s glow. “I’d rather die in sight of the enemy castle than die here, never having tried to save Runaan. If I’m not even going to take the chance, I might as well throw myself out of this tower right now, for all the use I am to him. And who knows, maybe you’ll learn something from Amaya on the journey, or once we arrive, that might help Sol Regem with his problem. Help me, Janai. Or I’m going without you and I’m definitely dying and then you won’t have any more of my pretty, sparkly art to inspire you.”

Though Kuta’s tone carried its usual steadiness, a ruthless thread wove through it, and Janai knew he wasn’t joking in the least. “Well. Since you put it that way.” She sighed. “We’ll finally be able to get rid of that infernal bell, too.”

Kuta’s mind was on other issues, though. “I don’t think it’ll be safe for us to cross the Breach once it starts getting light. We need to leave now.”

Janai shook her horns. “The Breach is too well guarded now. We’d have as much chance crossing it safely in the dead of night as we would in a raging gale.”

Kuta tensed and cupped his injured arm in his other hand. “We need to get away from Xadia before the sun rises, Janai, or Sol Regem will find us in a heartbeat.”

Janai’s mind leaped to the underpaths. She and her fellow Corona Blades had kept their secret for centuries. Her shoulders slumped at the thought of letting a human march brazenly through them. But there was no time to make another plan. “I know a way.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan's time in the coin is becoming more difficult. In his memories, he recalls a time when he finds himself in need of communication.

 

The growl came out of the darkness, low and choppy, as if pieces of its rumble were simply missing. Runaan startled into full alertness. He knew that growl, that _particular_ growl. His broken horn gave a sharp twinge.

The rusty baritone growl clawed its way into his mind a second time. Runaan winced and braced against attack, but none came.

No. The attack had _already_ come.

Flashes of memory stabbed like silvery knives, gleaming in the dark with faint hues of green, gray, and purple.

The bearded dark mage, lurking at the back of the human king’s bedchamber, his teeth in a grimace that held more fear than Runaan expected. Mayr spiraling through the air and bounding off a tall bedpost, her sickle blade slicing an arrow in two in mid-leap. Runaan in close-quarters combat with the strongest Crownguard, a strapping blond boy half his age. A young voice crying in alarm from the doorway. “Dad, what’s going on?”

 _Nngh_. Runaan ripped himself from the memory stream. Children had no place in battle. They made rash decisions. Rayla had frozen up and let a single human guard go free, and Runaan and the other Moonshadows had to pay the price. The mage’s daughter had done the opposite of freeze up.

The gravel-laced growl vibrated in the dark, stalking closer. Runaan could nearly feel its cool breath on his skin, like a chill fog escaping from an open grave. The creature repulsed him, body and soul. Such an abomination should never have been created. Runaan left the blame for the wolf’s unnatural fate at the dark mage’s feet, alongside his daughter’s actions.

Memories caught at him, dragged him under. The soft golden-green glow that offered him shelter was nowhere to be seen.

“Claudia, stay back. I have this under control.” The mage’s voice barely reached Runaan’s ears over the clang of his blades against the Crownguard’s sword.

“This is ‘under control’?” The girl’s voice cracked in disbelief at the sight of so many fighters slashing at each other. “I can help! I’ve got this.”

“No, Claudia—”

The sturdy Crownguard swung hard at that moment, and Runaan had to leap aside to avoid being sliced in two. He landed atop the dais where the king’s bed sat, facing back toward the mage and his daughter. He had a clear view of her sprinkling something atop a candle in one of the candelabras that lit the room. Her voice spoke with a low, swirling echo that chafed against Runaan’s ears.

As one, every Moonshadow in the room turned in horror to see two massive, ravening wolves made of purple smoke. The itch of their existence pulled at Runaan’s soul. They were _wrong_. And they were coming straight for him.

The Crownguard pinwheeled out of their way, and the wolves leaped, snarling with broken growls. Runaan instinctively slashed at their throats with a single, deadly slice. His blade passed through their bodies, but theirs did not pass through his. With a painful thud, the wolves slammed him against the footboard of the king’s bed. Teeth tore at him, and he struck wildly, gasping, furious, repulsed. His tunic was ripped to shreds as the wolves sought his internal organs. One took his quiver in its mouth and yanked so fiercely that the leather straps snapped hard. The other managed to get around behind Runaan’s left shoulder and clamped its jaws shut on his thick braid and his hoodie. It gave him a terrifyingly powerful shake as it tried to break his neck.

Though the pain of their teeth ripping at him burned in his mind. Runaan gritted his teeth in the endless dark and braced against what would come next. What had already come next.

Runaan cut his hoodie free from the wolf’s teeth with a quick slice that left his braid intact. The wolf’s jaws had worried it loose from its usual position, and it hung too low to protect his neck from a second direct bite. Before the wolves could strike again, he tucked as best he could and rolled to his left, seeking the Crownguard as both opponent and shield. If the young mage was so foolish as to put such deadly, undirected monsters into the middle of a melee, Runaan was very interested to learn if they could be induced to take direction from him.

But the blond Crownguard had fled the wolves in the direction of the young mage and was dragging her from the room in the wake of the older mage. Runaan sought his next target from the vantage point of the dais. Bren and Fergel had cornered a pair of guards against a side wall. Mayr hooked another guard’s sword from his grip, and it skittered across the floor.

Branneg was down.

Runaan’s eyes flared wide for a moment, and he launched into motion.

 _Tried_ to launch.

Cold, smoky, sulfuric breath flared against the side of his head as a smoke wolf took him down from behind by his left horn. Its teeth snagged in his hair and nipped into his scalp. Runaan tried to slice his way free on sheer instinct, but even as his sword passed through the wolf’s body— _again_ —he felt his balance fail. The wolf’s growl, so near his ear, was nearly deafening, and the feel of its fang skittering across his skull made his spine shiver.

Runaan fell back onto his shoulders, scrabbling near his horn with his left sword, trying to wedge his blade in the wolf’s teeth. But the wolf twisted its powerful jaws just as Runaan landed.

White flaring agony rocketed through Runaan’s head. A staccato spatter of red and white stars jabbed at his vision. His back arched, and a thick growl of pain escaped his throat. Sickeningly, Runaan heard his broken horn clatter to the dais beside his ear. His ears rang with screaming, and he couldn’t tell if it was real or not. If it was his.

The wolf began to tear at him again. It pinned him with a massive back paw on his left hip, claws digging deep into his flesh. Its fangs opened, and cold and bitter breath wafted onto Runaan’s face.

Runaan stared up at the wolf with a cold fury of his own. The wolf’s jaws opened wide, and it lunged for his throat. Runaan swung his sword.

A heavy drapery fell over them both, followed by a flailing weight that quickly rolled off. The drape was yanked free, and Fergel offered Runaan a hand up.

Breathless at his narrow escape, Runaan accepted the hand and regained his feet. He looked around. The wolf had vanished.

Fergel smirked and hefted his longstaff. “How d’you put out a fire? Smother it.”

Runaan felt at his collar and found a deep slice from the wolf’s fangs. He gave Fergel a sharp nod of thanks.

Fergel’s half-smile died with him as he was thrust into Runaan’s arms by an arrow through his back. Runaan caught his weight instinctively, but the light was already dying in Fergel’s eyes. “See you…” Fergel breathed, but he could not finish.

 _On the other side_ , Runaan finished silently, holding his dear friend’s body in his arms.

Then he spotted the arrow’s fletching, and his teeth clenched.

Moonshadow.

His _own arrow_.

He glared across the room. The bearded mage was back, and he was spinning a purple whirlwind of magic with one hand. In his other hand, he held three more of Runaan’s loosed arrows.

The arrows Runaan himself had coated in poison that very morning.

With a calculating smile, the bearded mage held another of Runaan’s arrows in front of his purple maelstrom. Its tip was aimed at Mayr. With a white jolt of adrenaline, Runaan felt his fate click into place. Felt all their fates click.

In the darkness, Runaan shut his eyes against the memory, but it blew through him like an icy wind. _Please, don’t make me watch them die again. Please!_

_“Your Moon is waning, my shade.”_

_Kuta._ Runaan shuddered with relief as the acrid tendrils of despair retreated. _Stay with me. I don’t want to break alone._

A green-gold light pushed back the black just enough to notice. _“Are you thirsty?”_

 

***

 

Runaan woke the next morning to yet another pitcher that had mysteriously sneaked onto the table beside Kuta’s sand bed. This one was flavored with dried moonberries that floated like rose petals atop the water.

Runaan swung his long legs over the edge of the round bed frame, poured himself a cup, and smiled down into it. He drank in long, thirsty gulps, and felt the scent of summer climb up inside his nose, prompting warm memories of happier times. He closed his eyes and indulged them. _Perhaps_ _Earth magic isn’t all bad._

When he entered the workshop, Kuta was already up and working on one of Runaan’s swords. Runaan picked up a plate of freshly sliced carrot rounds and ambled over to watch.

Kuta stood at his round whetstone, working the edge onto the sword with patient, firm strokes. Fiery little sparks shot out from the whetstone, and Runaan was careful to keep his distance. Kuta didn’t mind the sparks, though. They bounced off his hands and his forge-sleeves without harm. He looked over with a smile, not trying to speak over the low roar of the grinding. Runaan nodded in return and fell to watching the tinker’s sure hands. He guided the metal with expert motions that wasted no movement, as if he could somehow see the sharpened blade within the metal and was simply stripping away the excess.

He was so enthralled with Kuta’s expert hands that it took him several minutes to notice anything else. Like the fact that the whetstone seemed to be turning itself. The jar of moonflies sat on a little perch attached to the whetstone, and a strange, U-shaped metal piece spun around and around between the jar and the whetstone, powering it.

“Sunflower magic?” Runaan asked over the whetstone’s noise.

In response, Kuta grinned and let his cheeks flare brightly within the curves of his gold-green markings.

Runaan sighed with a rueful smile and popped a carrot round into his mouth. As his eyes wandered, not wanting to hang on Kuta’s _every_ motion, he caught sight of Kuta’s prosthetic leg.

Kuta’s support prongs were embedded in the stone floor, and a piece of the top of his foot had flipped open and become a resting brace for his other foot. The Sun-blood appeared eminently comfortable, balanced on one mechanical foot, leaning into his work, shifting and turning, at one with both his arcana. His tawny eyes were focused, his red-tipped hair swayed across his eyes, and the moonflies’ light gleamed across the green-gold markings on his cheek and shoulder as he worked.

He was _beautiful_. Runaan thought his heart might flutter up out of his chest. He opened his mouth, having absolutely no idea what to say.

Just then, Kuta lowered the sword and lifted the moonfly jar from its perch. The whetstone ground to a halt.

“I’m not done yet. But what do you think so far?” He offered the blade on his palms.

Runaan took it by the leather-wrapped handle, with another finger under the far tip, and studied it.

Soft blue tracings curved along the metal’s surface in undulating swirls. The sword’s edge gleamed sharp in the morning light that fell from the upper windows. Its curve was graceful. Deadly.

Runaan’s smile matched it.

Kuta, studying his face for a reaction, commented, “I’ll take that as high praise. I have a lot more to do to it, but—”

“What else is there to do? It looks perfect.”

Kuta’s look was patient, but pleased. “Oh, Moonshadow of little faith. Crafting the sword’s body is just the first step.”

“What’s the second step?” Runaan inquired.

Kuta tried to remain mysterious, but he just came off as shifty and uncertain. “Basically Earth magic stuff. Don’t worry. I’ll run everything by you first this time.”

Runaan recalled the unpleasant surprise of being thumped around by Kuta’s basalt shield without any warning. “You’d better.”

Kuta nodded, content. His eyes looked exhausted, though, ringed from below with pale gray circles.

“Are you sleeping well enough out here?” Runaan asked. “With all the work you’re doing, I don’t want you to get careless and hurt yourself. I can always sleep in the back garden, and you can have your bed. You look like you need it.”

“I’m fine, Moonshadow. I just got up early.”

Runaan glanced over at the nest of work blankets piled near the forge. “Did you stay where I put you last night?”

“I did. And thank you.”

Runaan lifted his chin and gave Kuta a weighing look. Last night, he’d been about to carry the sleepy, worn-out, emotionally drained tinker to his sand bed and tuck him in, but Kuta scrambled awake and insisted that Runaan was his guest and that under no circumstances would he take back the bed he’d offered him. So they compromised. Runaan pulled all of Kuta’s thick cotton work blankets from their cupboard and made a cozy sleep nest near the warmth of the forge, and Kuta was supposed to stay in it and not climb into his chair and try to work until he was fully rested.

The level of exhaustion on Kuta’s face seemed to indicate that he hadn’t quite held up his end of the bargain.

Runaan sighed through his nose. “I won’t have you wearing yourself out for these swords.”

Kuta reached into a small pocket on his trousers and popped a dark brown dried bean into his mouth. He crunched it up, swallowed, and replied cheekily, “Remember the part where you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to?”

Runaan stepped closer and attempted to loom, despite only a few inches’ difference in their height. “I mean it, Kuta. You know how important this work is to both of us.”

Kuta had the grace to look abashed at his sass. “I’m sorry. I do know. But I’m on top if it, I promise. Wakebean?” He offered Runaan half a dozen of the shiny brown beans.

“What is it?”

Kuta’s face was eminently patient, as if instructing a child. “It’s a bean. That wakes you up.”

Runaan raised one white eyebrow. “More Earth magic?”

“Only for the roasting part. Try one. Energy for hours. I need to etch and sharpen the other sword today, and you’re right. I don’t want my hand slipping. Either with the acid or with the blade. And you? What would you like to do today?”

Runaan slowly took one of the wakebeans and let it rest against his tongue before he crunched it into bits. It was bitter, but it carried a sturdy flavor that seemed to have, appropriately, a grounding effect. He was pretty sure it had Earth magic in it, no matter what Kuta said. “I want to write to Rayla. She will worry if I do not return when I said I would.”

Kuta’s smile was soft. “I’ll find you some parchment.”

While Kuta worked quietly at the next table with his acid and a tiny applicator, Runaan stared at his blank sheet of paper, trying to formulate his thoughts. The tinker’s quiet, graceful motions kept distracting him, though. Kuta leaned over his work table with such still focus that he didn’t move for several minutes at a time, save for his right hand as he worked carefully over the sword. The way he pivoted on his prosthetic as a shortcut around the corners of the table brought a smile to Runaan’s lips. And Kuta’s _hands_. Moon and shadow, the elf’s hands were mesmerizing. Those long, strong fingers knew exactly what to do with every single tool they claimed.

They would know what to do if they held Runaan’s face in their strong grip.

Runaan inhaled sharply at the sudden image of Kuta’s face so near his own, with his warm brown hands cradling Runaan’s flushed cheeks. He dropped his feather pen, splattering ink across one corner of the blank page. _This is not—I don’t even—what is_ happening _to me? Why can’t I concentrate even in the slightest around this elf?_ He growled under his breath. _I have a_ mission!

“Everything okay over there?” Kuta murmured, focused intently on his work.

 _No, it is not_. “Yes. Fine.” Runaan closed his eyes and leaned his face into his hands, rubbing his eyes until he saw stars. _I need to focus. Lose focus and you die. I can’t die yet. I have Rayla._

And there it was.

Rayla.

His little moonbeam. She needed him. He was about to take her into battle. They would fight side by side. Battle meant risk. He needed her to know what that meant to him.

 

_Rayla,_

_I’ve found a weaponsmith among the Sunfires. He will outfit us for our mission, but I must stay here for a few more days than I planned. I will return soon to see how your training is progressing. Give Fergel your undivided attention. He knows what you need to improve on. We will see this through together, you and I, as we always have. Whatever it takes._

_Runaan_

 

“Is that as heartfelt as Moonshadows get, then?” Kuta sounded far perkier than he had a bit earlier. His wakebeans had apparently kicked in.

Runaan looked up sharply to see Kuta scanning his letter, upside down. He quickly folded it over. “Dragon Guard letters, yes.”

“How about uncle and niece letters? Those get any cute sketches in the edges? I can draw her some flowers or something if you’re not into doodling.”

Runaan’s brows lowered. “Where can I find a messenger bird?”

“Oh. Let me take it for you. Remember the frypods.”

“I’m not in the habit of cowering, Kuta. I will deliver the message myself. Just point me in the right direction.”

True concern spread across Kuta’s delicate features. “Runaan, please. I’m telling you—”

“And you have my reply. Now I would like Rayla to have one as well.”

Kuta’s eyes begged him to reconsider. But Runaan had no intention of doing so. Their staring contest stretched out.

Kuta relented first. “ _Stubborn_ Moonshadow. I could smack you across the horns with an iron bar and it wouldn’t even dent you, would it?”

Runaan dipped his horns in acknowledgment of his victory. “Which way?”

Kuta gave him directions, and Runaan rolled the note up and stood to leave. Kuta trailed him to the front door. “I could come with you,” he blurted.

Runaan’s vision of Kuta cupping his face returned in full force. Kuta was nearly close enough—no, Kuta was _too_ close. “You have work to do.” Runaan pointed with an imperious hand at Kuta’s work table. Just a few minutes out of the Sun-blood’s presence would surely do wonders to clear Runaan’s head. He couldn’t think straight with Kuta striding by his side. Or anywhere in sight, apparently.

Kuta’s shoulders dropped. “You have been warned. You understand that, right?”

“I do. And thank you. But I can handle myself.” Runaan stepped outside and pulled the fire-painted door shut behind him harder than he intended. He shot his own hand a sharp glance and took a moment to calm himself before heading out.

Runaan followed Kuta’s directions easily enough and found the magpie master along the front wall of the village. He registered several strange looks that were aimed his way, and one of the elves he’d asked directions from two days ago hollered, “Are you still here?” To which Runaan made no reply or even a side glance, assuming the evidence of his person would be sufficient answer.

Perhaps Kuta was more sensitive to their judgment because of his Earthblood empathy. Perhaps they thought darker things than they said, and Kuta could hear those, while Runaan could not. And yet, the tinker was still willing to stay and craft for them. _He is not soft. He is strong._

 _And I thought getting out of the workshop would clear my head of him. But no. there he is again. Perhaps it is me who is soft._ He sighed. _Kuta is beautiful and talented. But I have work to do. We both do._

Though the elderly Sunfire who cared for the messenger magpies glanced oddly at Runaan as well, he accepted the message easily enough and sent it on its way. Runaan did watch until the dark bird took flight, just to be sure. The sunlight flashed on the white and blue patches on its wings as it angled slowly eastward.

_I’ll see you soon, Rayla. We’ll get through this together._

As Runaan made his way back across the village, his mind leapt ahead to the thought of seeing Kuta again. More than mere anticipation of working with him on crafting his bowblade, this feeling had depth. Current, even. It pulled past Runaan’s mind at a languid yet insistent angle.

_I just want to fulfill my duty. The sooner Kuta helps me do that, the better._

Far below his feet, the Moon touched his arcanum, and a vibration of ~ _untruth~_ rippled back up to his awareness. Baffled at the thought that he was somehow capable of deceiving himself, Runaan frowned and searched his mind again. He barely noticed a cadre of Sunfire elves scatter out of his way, looking wary and concerned and nearly dropping their market purchases.

Illusion and reality were two different things to Moonshadows, but illusion— _perception_ —mattered far more. _Perception_ was just another term for a practical version of reality Yet, Runaan was well aware of the pitfalls of complacently embracing just one perception and never acknowledging that others’ perceptions also had value. Moonshadows were especially prone to it, though he had seen all sorts convince themselves of this or that illusion at the Dragon King’s palace.

_Perhaps I should expand my perception, then._

 He paused on a brick street corner and settled his gaze on the monolith behind the village. Its waterfalls traced their way down a darker cleft in the deep gray stone, and its great stone head thrust up into the blue winter sky. The sun kissed its edges and left sharp shadows along its ridges. _What would I see if I stood up there_? Runaan created the illusion in his mind’s eye.

A Sunfire village, full of people. Little problems. Big problems. Elves working together. Children laughing. Couples strolling, holding hands. An old elf feeding pieces of his cracker to opportunistic magpies.

Normalcy.

And one out-of-place Moonshadow elf who didn’t know all the rules and might be breaking them and pretended not to care, even though Runaan had dedicated his life to living by The Rules. Might even pay with his life for his sister’s breaking of them.

His arcanum twanged, and flashes of old memories resurrected themselves.

His first crush had returned his interest. The boy had set his hands on Runaan’s waist as he tried to steal a kiss, as swiftly as if plucking a blue-moon’s bloom from its stem before it could fold itself closed. Runaan had been so surprised that he’d stumbled back and fallen down.

“I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you!” Runaan had insisted.

“Then kiss me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to do that. Can we just talk?”

“Lying about this isn’t funny, Runaan.”

“I’m not lying!”

His crush was hurt, and his hurt turned to anger. The retaliatory teasing from their friends drove Runaan to join the Dragon Guard academy a year before he’d planned to. He buried his confusion down deep and embraced his training with every fiber of his being. The purity of the work, holding the balance of life and death, left no room for romantic entanglements, and that was just the way Runaan wanted it.

Most of the time.

Cloda followed him into the Guard, as was their longstanding family tradition, which stretched back thousands of years. In the time before the Breaking of Xadia, Runaan’s people had been the Moon Druids of old. Together, he and she and their cohort had upheld long tradition, serving now at the Dragon King’s palace instead of at the Moon Nexus. And there, she had fallen in love and married another Dragon Guard. Locklen was a good husband and a doting father to Rayla. And Cloda became a dedicated mother, even as she fulfilled her duty to the Dragon King. But he had known her as a child, with her early loves and her broken hearts. He had defeated in honor duels several careless elves who had made her cry.

 _If this is love, I do not want it_ , he had told himself as he held her sobbing frame time and again.

Yet he perceived the change in his sister once she found Locklen, and he was torn. She had found a partner, someone she would do anything and everything for, and Runaan craved that pairing, that stability. That intense level of trust, which came less easily to Moonshadows than to others. At the same time, he could barely picture what kind of elf he would have to become in order to achieve such a pairing. He would not wade through a swamp of heartbreak only to be rejected when his love tried to push their perception of him into his reality.

_I am the way I’m meant to be. Is there no one who will accept me as I am?_

_~Untruth~_. The Moon glimmered in the deep distance. Runaan’s unexpected fantasy about Kuta’s hands flared before his waking eyes. He drew in a sharp breath.

 _My perception must be incomplete. Not about Kuta. But about_ myself. Excitement built at the base of Runaan’s spine and tingled its way up to the base of his neck before prickling his scalp. He’d tucked his heart away and never truly examined how it worked. How could he mewl to the Moon about how alone he felt if _he_ was not the first elf to accept who he truly was?

_I need to see myself clearly. Then I will understand. Then I can decide what comes next._

“Oh, hello there!”

Runaan snapped out of his soul-searching and looked over in surprise, but he saw only the little old Sunfire, Siba. She waggled a hand at him as if gently clawing at the air. Hesitantly, he approached her, though his back stiffened, and he found himself looming unintentionally, hands behind his back from years of guard duty.

“You’re Kuta’s friend, yes?” Siba asked from somewhere just above Runaan’s waist.

“I suppose I am.”

“It’s a lovely day today. Is he happy?”

Runaan’s eyebrows fled nearly to his hairline. How was he supposed to know that? But he remembered Kuta’s dedication to his home, his village, despite his personal obstacles. “I think he is, for the most part.”

Siba tucked her soft arm around Runaan’s forearm and dragged him into a walk with her. “That’s good, that’s good. And you, are you happy?”

The sudden question from a total stranger caused him to answer honestly. “I’m not sure, Siba.”

“Oh. That doesn’t sound good. Is there anything I can do to help?” She patted his arm in sympathy.

One of the best instructors at the academy had told Runaan, in his first year of training, “Perception is fixed as long as you are fixed. Flexibility is the key to understanding. _Move_ , and you will _see_.”

 _Move, and you will see._ An idea occurred. “Kuta told me that you have a heat-being.”

“Oh, yes. I don’t use it for much anymore. My daughters keep accusing me of setting my chairs on fire when I nap.” Her chortle sounded like a chirping bird.

Runaan smiled. “Excellent. I have a suggestion, if I may.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Siba. A throw-away character who charmed her way into this scene. You'll see her again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuta's mission begins with a rough start, and Aaravos is back at his shenanigans.

“This is the most foolish idea I have ever heard in my life,” Janai hissed as she unlocked Amaya’s cell.

“And yet you’re participating,” Kuta murmured from behind her. He’d retrieved his lost dagger and stashed it in the internal sheath in his leg, and he carried the sunleech jar in a small, dark pack over his good shoulder. “You have a better idea, let me know. Until then, we’re running out of moonlight.”

Janai heard the tremor in Kuta’s voice, and his double meaning spilled a surprising amount of concern in her chest. She needed to focus, though—if they couldn’t slip out of the palace unseen, they’d all run out of moonlight. She beckoned to Amaya with one hand and held up a dull gray collar with the other. She’d retrieved the device from the armory, buying the guard’s cooperation by giving him most of the truth: the collar was to secure cooperation from her prisoner. Just not for the task Janai had volunteered to perform for Sol Regem. Now she waggled it and gave Amaya a smirk. “Let me put this on you, and I’ll free your hands. I know you need them to talk.”

Amaya didn’t budge. She slid a cool look from Janai to Kuta. If the look on her face was any indication, her signs asked something like, “ _What will it do to me?”_

“Nothing, if you cooperate.”

Amaya lifted a cynical eyebrow. _“And if I don’t?”_

In response, Janai activated the collar. It began to glow with fervent heat, turning from dark gray to a molten yellow with red edging. She tipped her horns at Amaya, whose eyes had gone wide. With a flex of her hand, she sucked the heat from the collar, leaving it cool. “You want to go to Katolis as badly as we do. This is how you get there alive.”

Amaya, far from intimidated, merely tipped her head and narrowed her eyes at Janai. Her sign was one Janai knew well, and had even copied: _“Bring it.”_ She stepped forward and lifted her chin.

Janai expected no less from her formidable opponent. She opened the collar, keeping her eyes fixed on Amaya’s deep brown irises. Her warm fingers brought the two halves of the collar together under Amaya’s chin and worked the Sun clasp shut. Then she gave it a tug to assure herself—and Amaya—that it was firmly in place.

Amaya snapped her teeth at Janai’s fingers and smirked. Janai twitched back on instinct, but she offered her prisoner only a flat look. While holding firm against Amaya’s saucy stare, Janai freed the general’s wrists from the manacles.

To her surprise, Amaya pointed at the bell and gestured that she wanted it.

“Why?” Janai asked.

 _“To call you.”_ Amaya smirk grew bigger.

“She has a point,” Kuta said.

“Whose side are you on?” Janai growled as she slapped the bell into Amaya’s hand.

“Runaan’s.” Kuta’s tone was blunt.

Janai shrugged in easy agreement as Amaya stuffed the sun-shaped bell into a pocket. She guided her to the edge of the room, where Janai had dropped Amaya’s boots and teal overtunic, and gave her a small push in the direction of her belongings. Amaya sat with her back to the wall and pulled her boots on.

As she scooped up her overtunic, Kuta turned toward the stairs with impatience. “Let’s go.” A flutter of wings caught his attention as he neared the first step. The messenger crow flapped down off the top bars of the Suncage and landed on the flat metal banister. Its beady eye fell on the tinker.

Janai put a hand on Amaya’s shoulder and started guiding her out of the cell and toward the stairs, but she stopped when Kuta’s attention was arrested by the crow. “What is it, tinker?”

“Hmm?” Kuta kept his tawny eyes on the bird, entirely distracted. He tilted his horns as if listening to a message Janai couldn’t hear.

“Kuta. We need to go.” Janai kept her impatience from her voice, but it took effort. Even Amaya was looking concerned.

Kuta reached down into a small recess on his leg and retrieved a strip of jerky. He pulled a few pieces off one end and set them in front of the crow. “For your trouble,” he murmured. Janai was surprised to hear a tremor in his voice again.

She let Kuta lead the way down the stairs, following with a hand on Amaya’s shoulder, fingers curled into the cloth of her overtunic in case the human tried to make a break for it or tried to run when she should wait. Janai trusted Kuta’s Earthblood sensitivity to pick up approaching patrols as they made their way out of the Corona’s palace, and he didn’t let her down.

Through empty, darkened halls, the three unlikely allies slithered like shadowy snakes. Sunfire guards on the night shift were few and far between, but they were always the biggest and strongest from among the Corona’s forces, to compensate for their lack of Sun powers during the night. Janai had no wish to fight one of her own, but she especially didn’t want to stack the odds against her by coming up against a brawler of a guard, sunforge sword or no.

Kuta led them as far as the edge of the central courtyard and paused. The broad expanse stretched out toward the molten portcullis, with every flagstone bathed in late moonlight. Four Sunfires stood guard—bored, but very much awake—at its corners. “This isn’t going to work, Janai,” he whispered.

Janai’s hand grasped the handle of her sword. Its familiar shape was comforting, but she had no intention of drawing a sunforge blade on her own troops. Especially not with Amaya glaring at her like she was an utter monster. With a twitch of her lip, she let go. “What do you suggest?” she whispered back.

Before Kuta could answer, Amaya tapped her arm and offered a quick sign.

“What’s that one mean?” he asked Janai.

Janai raised a dark brow. “You’re not in her head?”

Kuta shook his head as if clearing a distracting thought. “She didn’t like it.” His eyes touched on Amaya’s, and a taut moment passed between them.

Janai broke it. “‘The unexpected.’ That’s what she said.”

Kuta kept his eyes on Amaya’s, and he seemed to be reading possibilities in her brown gaze. Then a small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’ve got it. Follow me.”

Another few minutes of sneaking led them to the outer wall of the palace, tucked in a gap between two brick outbuildings used for supplies. Kuta eased up to the thick stone wall separating them from the open night and rested his hand on the stone.

“Your plan?” Janai asked.

The sturdy began to dance under Kuta’s hand, deep inside, with tiny particles rearranging and shifting, weakening the brick, shaping it back into its original separate ingredients. “I’m going to make us a door, and then I’m going to shut it behind us.”

 

***

 

Kuta felt his way along the edges of the golden stone blocks with his Earth magic, marking their borders, separating their mineral components and drawing them from corner to corner until the wall lifted outward and formed a sheltering tunnel out into the night, edged with sharp granite flakes and glittering mica. Janai hustled Amaya out onto the bare gravel that surrounded the Corona’s palace, and Kuta followed. Once he was through, he turned and began to replace the stone blocks, one by one, just as they had been. With the soft susurrus of sliding sand, the arch of disassembled stone slithered back and became one with the outer wall of the palace, leaving no trace of their escape.

When he turned around, Janai was staring at him with a smirk. As they headed toward the glowing river of lava in the distance, she whispered to him, “I think you’ve scared her.”

Kuta glanced from Amaya’s set face to Janai’s amused one. “How so?” he whispered back.

“She just realized that you can walk in anywhere you like, any time you like. She’s the general in charge of the humans’ Standing Battalion, and she has no defense against you.”

“She can probably beat me to a pulp, especially in my current condition,” Kuta returned. “She threw a punch at me in her cell. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.” He slid Janai a side eye. “Stronger than you.”

“Shh.” Janai shut down the conversation, though whether from irritation or a safety concern, Kuta didn’t know. The rest of their journey to the edge of the Firestream was uneventful, but as they reached a large stone pillar that marked the edge of the torn land bordering the Firestream, Janai halted suddenly. “We need to blindfold her.” She reached into a thin pocket and retrieved a strip of dark cloth.

A spike of worry arrowed off of Amaya so sharply that Kuta felt it without even trying. His gaze jerked to the human. Her face was tense and revealed nothing, though. He let his eyes slide back to Janai. “I don’t think she likes that idea.”

Janai frowned. “I recognize that we’re on a critical mission, here, tinker. But I will not throw Sunfire secrets at the feet of the enemy willy nilly.” Janai pressed the cloth toward Amaya, who stepped back hurriedly, raising her hand to block the cloth’s approach.

Kuta launched himself between the two and caught one of Janai’s strong hands with his good one. “Stop. We can’t draw attention to ourselves by fighting. Let’s think of another way.” Once he was sure Janai had paused her insistent advance toward Amaya, he turned so the human general could read his lips and said, “I will if you will.” He mimed a blindfold over his own eyes.

Amaya’s distrust was writ large across her face.

Kuta set down the sunleech pack, unwound his bright red scarf, and handed it to Janai. Wordlessly, the Corona Blade bound it around his eyes, though he could hear her soft huff of impatience. Then, delicately reading Amaya’s loud emotional cues, he silently held out a hand in her direction. “We’ll go together.”

The indignant rage that bubbled up in the human staggered him half a breath before her fist did. He staggered as her punch landed on the left side of his jaw and would have fallen if not for Janai’s quick reflexes, but the Sunfire’s firm grasp on his arms drew a growl of pain to his lips.

Nonetheless, he jerked his scarf down from his eyes and threw himself right back between Janai and Amaya without hesitation. “Janai, I deserved that,” he hissed. “I invaded her mind. I attacked her. She has no reason to trust me. Let it go. And don’t hot-collar her.” Kuta glanced over his shoulder to make sure the human wasn’t writhing in pain and found her staring at him, nostrils flaring, eyes narrow. “We’re even now.” He said it where Amaya could see it and waited to see if she’d counter.

She didn’t immediately do so, and Kuta followed up with an open palm of apology and an “I’m sorry.” She didn’t relax, but she didn’t strike out again, either. “I’m desperate, just like you. I’ll do anything to save Runaan. Just like you’d do anything to save Callum.”

 _Not ‘anything’. Not that._ Amaya’s hands slashed the air.

“Can we debate this on the other side of the Firestream?” Janai interrupted.

Kuta looked from her to Amaya. He rubbed at his throbbing jaw and offered her a pleading look.

Amaya studied him for a long moment. Then she took a deep breath and looked westward. Toward Katolis. She let the breath out, glowered at the blindfold in Janai’s hand, and signed again. “ _Bring it_.”

 

***

 

The mirror realm had no night. No stars, no sun. Just… light. Aaravos busied himself as always, with study, his herb garden, a bit of light foretelling, and a reread of one of his favorite books. But as he delicately eased one of the tall shadevines on his reading arbor to allow its new leaf more access to that nondescript light, something tugged at him suddenly, deep within his star.

He carefully marked his place in the book and set it on the small metal filigree table beneath the arbor. As he rose from his padded hornslot chair, the little horned caterpillars that lived on his vines raised their heads and studied him alertly.

“Not right now, my sweet ones,” Aaravos murmured. But he left them an Earth rune to cheer them in his absence, and its green twinkles spread and sank into vine and caterpillar alike.

With long strides, the archmage approached the library. He cast the door open before him and swept inside, not stopping until he stood before the mirror. The other side lay dark and abandoned, Viren’s red chair and its melted candle pushed askew from the last time the dark mage rose. He’d risen to do Aaravos’s bidding while believing he rose to serve his own will. Dark acts had been engineered that night, things that could not be undone. But one good thing had come of Viren’s murderous excursion. One beautiful thing.

The archmage’s awareness was drawn out of his memories. Something was rushing up behind him, he could feel it. The air seemed to cool, the universe slowed. Though he knew nothing could slip into his realm with him, he had to resist the urge to turn and glance over his shoulder.

The cold tingle of wariness deep in his gut delighted him.

_Eclipse. It draws near._

The shadow of fate was approaching. The bow wave before it rushed over him, sending shivers tingling among the stars on his skin, and he tipped back his head and closed his eyes, embracing its touch, letting it fill his mind.

What would come, would come. And he would be ready for it. In that moment, when the eclipse was revealed to him in its true form, he would see his way forward. He always did.

A soft crack in a hard shell somewhere on the far side of the mirror arrested all of Aaravos’s attention. His golden eyes widened, and he pressed an eager hand against the mirror as if he could feel the vibrations more clearly from the far side. A sure smile spread his full lips, and he turned his gaze unerringly in the direction of the caterpillar he’d sent to Viren.

Its metamorphosis was complete.

Aaravos breathed deeply and let his eyelids slide halfway shut. The eclipse would come as it was foretold. Until then, Aaravos had plans of his own.

“Now, sweet one, we begin again.”

 

***

 

Viren sat on his straw cot with his arms locked around his knees in the cool of the evening. He had taken the sturdy wool blanket from beneath him and draped it over his head in an effort not to hear the crushing normalcy of crickets chirping from outside his cell window. He felt like a petulant child, but his anger was too hot to allow for critical thinking.

He’d been escorted unceremoniously to this cell a week ago, shoved inside like some common cutpurse, and abandoned except for meal visits. Soren had visited that morning, but Viren hadn’t been able to look his son in the eye. There was nothing Soren could do for him, anyway, not since he was under house arrest himself. Now, if Claudia had come to see him…

But she hadn’t. The boy king—a pale imitation of his father at best—clearly had Opeli whispering in his ear, warning him not to allow the two dark mages to see each other. And Soren had been a morose mess over failing to kill the fluff-haired brat as Viren had instructed, which had kept him from achieving the right frame of mind for calculation. Frustrated at losing yet another chance for maneuvering, Viren had scorned Soren’s concern and sent him away.

His stomach keened for food. His body shook with hunger, but Viren angrily refused to give in. If that Moonshadow could stand a hunger strike, then he could, too. No elf would best him in a show of will. Not after everything Viren had been through to get to this point.

Well, not this point _here_.

High Mage of Katolis. Brother-in-arms to King Harrow. Confidante to a fair and just monarch. Master of dark magic. _That_ was the point. That had _always_ been the point.

Viren had been born a nothing, to nobody. His mother had been a scullery maid who’d been released from service when she was found to be carrying the jarl’s first grandchild. The nobles had blamed her and claimed that the father was a stable boy with a crush rather than their golden heir, the jarl’s handsome firstborn son. Naturally, everyone believed them. Her next place of employment, where Viren spent the first six years of his life, was the sort of place with red silk curtains around the beds and very accurate sand clocks for payment purposes.

Viren had learned his true worth growing up in that brothel. More specifically, he’d learned that he didn’t have any. The men who bedded his mother didn’t care about her any more than they cared about him or anyone else. The only value they conferred on anyone was based on what others could do for them. The effort of a man’s hands, of his mind: that was something that anyone could see and appreciate. Nothing so frivolous as a pretty face or a kind soul would ever be enough to impress such men of power. His mother had been beautiful, once. It had only gotten her in trouble. From Viren’s perspective, it had gotten her killed. Her beautiful face hadn’t mattered to the men who ran the world. The only thing that mattered was what she could deliver.

She’d delivered Viren into the world, and Viren desperately wanted to matter. He wanted to control his own destiny. And to do that, he had to understand why his mother _didn’t_ matter. He finally did understand once he’d begun tutelage under a pragmatic old codger of a scholar who’d only taken him on to prove his rival wrong about the intelligence of the lower classes.

Provoking that rivalry had been Viren’s first big attempt to change the world. A bright stableboy at Katolis University, he’d taken every opportunity to touch the lives of the powerful, educated people around him. And it had worked. He had himself to thank for everything he’d learned from the old scholar.

That included his indoctrination in the ways of dark magic. His introduction to Harrow, then a prince attending the university. His impromptu graduation to dark mage, taken by force from his tutor’s hands. His decision to hitch his wagon to the prince’s rising star and join the war effort.

His tutor had only been the first of the dead in Viren’s wake, and that had been an accident. But those that followed hadn’t been. Pragmatism had seeped into his blood. Or perhaps it had always lain there, dormant, until that first rush of true power had quickened it. Between the scholar’s patient tutelage and Harrow’s easygoing friendship, Viren had learned a deadly combination of patience, charm, and utterly cutthroat tactics.

The key to power, the johns had insisted, is self-interest.

The key to knowledge, the tutor had instructed, is patience.

The key to ruling, the prince had explained, is balance.

All those things, Viren took deeply to heart, and he paved his own path with bricks imprinted with those words. He led Harrow to victory. Saved Katolis and Duren from famine. Single-handedly orchestrated the vengeance wrought upon Thunder, King of the Dragons, for Queen Sarai’s death. He was unstoppable. Of every influential figure across the five human kingdoms, Viren’s will carried the most weight.

Until he’d finally cracked the secret of that damnable mirror and fallen under the tantalizing influence of that mysterious elf-mage. _Aaravos_. Viren’s fingers cramped around his shins. He hadn’t understood what power he held until it had been stripped away. Everything he ever wanted had sat just within reach. And then the mage had betrayed him. Refused all further aid just as victory lay in his sights. Rescinded the connection to his nearly infinite power.

Viren should have left well enough alone. Found a different way. _Perhaps_ … Viren squeezed his eyes shut and felt them burn with dehydration. _Perhaps Harrow was right_. Perhaps rushing straight to a mysterious figure locked behind a magic mirror was too much of a shortcut. Viren didn’t really know anything about Aaravos, and the elf had been less than forthcoming with details about anything except whatever _Viren_ wanted to discuss.

 _He’s been manipulating me the whole time_. Viren ground his teeth, cursing his own blindness. He’d gotten too greedy, moved too quickly. His old tutor would have rapped him across the knuckles for his impatience.

Beneath his blanket, Viren stifled a groan of self-loathing. His hasty actions had done him no favors, and had returned him a worth of nothing. Again. His right thigh burned as he shifted on the bed, and he pressed a hand to the arrow wound there. He’d tended it himself, not trusting anyone working for Opeli not to poison him with the wrong ointment. After years of fighting at Harrow’s side, he knew his way around battlefield wounds well enough.

A sudden, strange presence permeated the cell, as if a cool hand reached out and touched the back of Viren’s neck, making his hair stand on end there. Viren widened his grayscale eyes in the dark beneath the blanket and felt his breathing speed up. He grabbed a handful of the blanket’s edge and began to tug it off, saying as he did so, “I thought I told you that I never wanted to see—”

He paused as he realized he wasn’t addressing the little caterpillar anymore. He’d nearly killed the thing the day the guards threw him in there, hurling it against a wall and trying to stomp on it, raging like a lunatic about betrayal, destiny, promises, and his children’s future. But the little monster was far sturdier and swifter than it seemed, and before Viren knew it, the caterpillar had appeared on the sill of his tiny barred window. It raised its head and stared at him with such judgment that it struck Viren like a blow, and then it was gone. Scuttled out into the sunlight, its fat little legs scrambling for a freedom Viren couldn’t chase.

Oh, but it returned the next day to try to pour its sultry voice in his ear. And the next. Viren threw his boot at it both mornings. And then, after three tries, the accursed beast left him alone.

Now, Viren knew why. The glorious creature on his sill bore the same colors as the caterpillar, as Aaravos himself—black, gray, and purple, with dots and streaks of white—but it also sported a magnificent pair of antennae and a full set of colorful butterfly wings.

The caterpillar had molted. “Well, now you can’t fit inside my ear anymore,” Viren taunted it. “What could you possibly want? You’ve already taken everything from me. My rank and title, my freedom, my status, my—my children… What do you want?”

The butterfly regarded him for a moment, antennae twitching as if listening to that accursed elf. Then it took flight toward Viren, clasping something bright in its six legs.

Viren recognized it. His brows drew together, but he refrained from swiping at the approaching butterfly. Instead, he held his breath and offered up his palm as a landing spot. The butterfly didn’t land, though. It only dropped off what it carried. Then it circled Viren’s head once as if assuring itself that it had completed its task and that Viren was satisfied with his gift, and it returned to the window sill to watch.

Viren swung his legs over the edge of the straw cot and lifted the bright present up to eye height. A glowing yellow butterfly, radiating with Moon magic, lay injured on his palm, its wing torn, tiny legs flailing.

The dark mage looked up at Aaravos’s messenger. “You think this little nothing is going to make me feel better? That it can make me forgive you for what you did to me?”

The butterfly flicked its wings gently and continued to study him.

Viren could feel the elf’s attention on him, heavy, unshifting. He rose to his feet and found to his great annoyance that he was still shorter than the window sill where the butterfly rested—it looked down on him from about four inches above his gaze, exactly as the taller elf had. Weak and unsteady from days of not eating, Viren raised a shaky hand and held out the Moon butterfly. “You want to bring me something useful? Bring me my staff! Bring me something with _real_ power in it! This tiny creature’s life isn’t worth the effort it takes to crush it!”

Yet, in his rage, Viren did crush it, felt its wings crumple softly against his hard palm, felt its body lose integrity and become a sticky little smear. Out of habit—and without the mental reserves to refrain—Viren seized upon the little burst of magic as the butterfly died, chanting, “ _Htlaeh fo ruomalg_.” A flash of purple light flickered over him, head to toe, cloaking Viren in an illusion that clung to his skin and gave him the appearance of a man flush with life and health.

He opened his hand and examined his empty palm. His spell had used up every particle of the butterfly. It, and its magic, had been utterly spent.

The worst part was, he _did_ feel better.

His eyes, now restored to white sclera and gray irises, flicked to the sill, and he barked, “Get out!”

But the butterfly had already taken its leave. Viren remained behind in the cell as the beautiful creature flitted away on the evening breeze. It took all he had not to stride to the window and look out after it.

 _Is this how he felt whenever I left?_ The thought rose unbidden in Viren’s mind. _Trapped, abandoned? Betrayed?_

“Well then, he should have let me win that fight!” Viren’s growl was heard by no one. He limped on his wounded leg as he turned to sit on the cot again, and he pulled the blanket over his head once more, welcoming the unjudging darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I am still deciding._
> 
> _“No, you’re not.”_  
>  Kuta’s words, uttered during their first sparring session, echoed forward into his mind.
> 
> _I am. I need to listen to myself._
> 
>  “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

The smell of ground Sun-dried corn, fresh-pressed olive oil, and a medley of meats and vegetables permeated the air as Runaan leaned against the tiny kitchen’s doorway, arms crossed. His horns nearly scraped the ceiling, and his eyes were pinned there, as well.

“You look like you have something on your mind, dear.” Siba didn’t look over as she stirred the frypod ingredients together in a big pot. “Do you want to talk about it? I promise I won’t even remember it tomorrow.”

Runaan looked down at the diminutive Sunfire in surprise. Her eyes closed to crescent moons as her smile lifted her wrinkled cheeks. “I may be losing my memory, but I could never forget losing my… er… hmm. Not sure where I was taking that sentence.”

Runaan tipped his horns in concern.

“Or am I?” Siba tipped her own tall, dark horns, pointed triumphantly, and shot him a cocky smile. Runaan opened his mouth to suggest that perhaps he should wait outside, but she read him like a book. “No, you don’t get to leave. I told you, you’re my guest. What do you want to ask me?”

Runaan didn’t want to ask her anything. But if he had learned anything at his grandmother’s knee many years ago, it was not to cross the elderly. Especially if they could reach your knees more easily than you could. He took a deep, frypod-scented breath of air. “How do you know…” he began, but trailed off.

“Ooh, I like these ones. I always know the answers.” Siba waved an encouraging spoon at him. “Go on.”

Runaan let the ghost of a smile cross his lips. Siba even sounded like his grandmother. He turned and leaned one blue-marked shoulder against her door frame. “How do you know how you feel about someone?”

Siba blinked. The silence was broken only by the soft hiss of steam. “Why don’t you know already?”

The assassin dropped his gaze, though he doubted he could hide his uncertainty from one as canny as Siba. “I… don’t usually feel this way about anybody. And something’s different this time. I’m not sure what it means.”

Siba’s face seamed, and she gave her spoon a wag in Runaan’s direction. “Ah hah. Well, then.” She pouted in thought, stirring. “Do you have sweaty palms around them?”

Runaan glanced at his gloved hands. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Feel lightheaded?”

Runaan remembered Kuta’s face limned in silver by moonfly light. “Maybe.”

“Hmm. Do you enjoy spending time with this elf?”

“I do. Most of the time.” _When he’s not making it impossible to think straight._

“Do you want to be close to them? Like it when they touch you?”

Runaan’s pale eyebrows drew together. “I… don’t know.”

Siba dismissed his uncertainty with a wave of her spoon. “You don’t have to know, dear. Do you get tongue-tied around them?”

“Certainly not.”

“I see. Well, I think I understand the problem.”

“There’s a problem?”

Siba’s spoon drew a circle in the air with a patient flick. “The issue. The matter at hand. You’re in an unusual situation, Moonshadow, and I want you to know that it’s fine to be where you are.”

Runaan indulged a small dollop of defensiveness. “Of course it’s fine.”

“Of course it is,” Siba soothed. “You be you.” She turned and began forming the frypods as she talked, topping each corn-dough round with a spoonful of filling and crimping it shut into a flower pod shape. “I’ve been married three times. Yes! You wouldn’t know it to look at me, would you?” She chortled at her own joke. “And though I’ve learned many things over the years—except whatever happened to my second husband. Still don’t know that one. The one thing I do know is this: no one else can tell you how to feel. It’s not their business. And neither is digging around in my back yard at midnight two weeks after my second husband goes missing! What an elf buries in her backyard in the dark is her business!” Siba thumped her spoon against the rim of her bowl. “But, where was I going with this? Oh, yes. Yes. I fell in love and married my third husband in a span of two months! Yes, me! I know what you’re thinking.”

Runaan very much doubted that she did, but he enjoyed observing the smooth skill in her hands as she wrapped and crimped the frypods, stacking them around the inner edge of a large metal pot.

“You’re thinking, ‘Aren’t whirlwind romances for Skywings?’ And you’d be right. My third husband was a Skywing.”

At that, Runaan’s eyebrows rose. “Really?” He’d rarely seen a Skywing even at the Dragon King’s palace. They tended to keep to themselves. And they weren’t known for enjoying being tied down. In any sense.

“Oh, it didn’t last. He flew the coop. Flitted away. Hard to believe that, for love of a flighty elf like that, I committed—”

Runaan’s ears perked, half-expecting a murderous confession regarding her previous husband.

“—my heart so easily. I should’ve known better. But now, I’ve come to accept that I’m a romantic at heart.” Siba turned to Runaan and in a hoarse whisper said, “Don’t tell the other Sunfires. They won’t understand.”

Unsure if she was joking, Runaan nodded seriously.

Siba cackled and swatted his arm with her soft hand. He glanced down to where she had smacked him.

“You’re a serious one, aren’t you, dear?” she said. “Well, that’s all right, if you’re content. Now, back to what I’m pretty sure I was saying. I _knew_ I was in love with my precious Skywing. No one could convince me otherwise. But they sure did try. You, now. You aren’t yet _sure_ how you feel. But you’re the only one who gets to decide that. And it is a decision, you understand. Your feelings don’t just happen on a whim.”

 _Maybe that’s all I’m feeling. A whim. I’ve had whims. I’ve whimmed._ “Don’t they, though?”

Siba drew herself up. Her cinnamon-bun hair might have reached as high as Runaan’s heart. “They most certainly do not! Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You know how you feel, but you don’t know what it means yet. Perhaps you’re feeling one thing, and then something very different? Maybe even opposite? And you go back and forth.”

“Yes, exactly.” Runaan reined in his eagerness behind a quick nod, but inside, he felt awash with relief. Someone else understood.

“Then you need to _decide_. Which feeling are you going to embrace?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“But it is that simple. Listen.” Siba packed the very last frypod into the pot and poured in a bit of steaming water. “You don’t have to decide now. You don’t want to rush and choose wrong. Just listen to yourself. Listen to your heart. What does it want? It will tell you. Listen. Decide. And be content.” She placed a heavy metal lid on the pot and rested her hands on its sides.

Runaan tensed a little as her hands cracked with red heat. Steam shot out from just below the lid, enveloping Siba in a boiling white cloud. She didn’t seem to mind.

As steam poured through the kitchen, Runaan felt her words sink into his mind. _Listen. Decide. You don’t want to rush._

When she was done cooking the freshly made frypods, she pulled the excess heat from the pot with a casual touch and handed the pot to Runaan. “There you go.”

At the far end of the old stone house, a door slammed open, and several shrieking voices darted inside. Runaan slid his eyes toward the hall, feeling his ire rise for the cruel pranks Siba’s grandchildren had played on Kuta.

Siba’s eyes flickered with mischief. “And you can barter me for them by popping round the corner just as my grandkids come this way and scaring the living daylights out of them.”

Runaan shot her an inquiring glance. Had he been too obvious in his dislike? They were just little elflings.

She sighed. “My daughters are busy serving the Corona all across Xadia. Their children’s fathers are… also somewhere in Xadia. These kids are about three hands full, and as you can see…” She held out her two hands. “Go on. A little spook’ll do them good.”

Runaan really wanted to agree. “If you’re very sure.”

“Oh ho ho, I _am_.” Siba slapped the handle of her long-handled spoon into his palm.

Runaan held it like a dagger and lurked just inside the kitchen. When he heard a clattering of footsteps thundering his way down the hall, he hooked his fingers around the door frame and swung his torso out into the hall, brandishing the cooking spoon. He loomed far above the children’s heads, and his eyes glowed like the Moon in the dimness. His curling horns provided extra proof of his terrifying otherness, and he added just a touch of spooky illusion, with shifting shadows and floating spirit lights.

A panicked choir of yelps and screams met his ears, and two of the little ragamuffins skidded onto their bottoms. They fled as one, back into the yard, shrieking their heads off.

Siba cackled with delight as Runaan handed back her spoon. “Ah, that was funny. I’ll catch a burn for it later, of course. But it’ll be worth it.” She stopped, gazed down at her spoon, then up at him. “Who’d you say you were again?”

Runaan’s brows rose for a moment, but then he smiled. “An elf who is going to take his time and decide for himself.” He lifted the frypod pot in thanks and showed himself out.

 

***

 

Runaan returned to the workshop unscathed by Siba’s brats or anyone else. He stood for a long moment in the front garden, surrounded by soft plants, bare-fingered trees, and bright winks of light from decorative silver and gemstones. He liked it here. The place relaxed him. Though he still wasn’t sure how he was going to bring the tinker and his Moonshadow trainees together, he could understand why Kuta didn’t want to leave. He had put down roots here, and Runaan admired that stability.

 _I give myself time to decide. To listen. To see myself first._ He felt for the Moon and found it far below. With a deep, steady breath, Runaan used it as an anchor. Tomorrow it would be full. Tomorrow, he would have his swords. Tomorrow, he would be free to leave in pursuit of the next step in fulfilling his mission.

 _Tomorrow_.

He let himself into the workshop.

“And what time do you call this?” Kuta called. He slammed his jar of etching acid down far too hard and jostled it, spilling some onto the work table. It sent up a greenish curl of smoke.

Runaan raised one eyebrow as he closed the door behind him. “I call it morning. Do the Sunfires have another word for it?”

“Don’t get coy. Where have you been? I was—” He bit off the rest of his sentence and began again. “Where were you?”

“I visited Siba’s house. She made you these.” Runaan lifted up the big pot of frypods.

Kuta’s jaw dropped, and his face went a little pale. “Why did you—What were you—Runaan, you can’t just _tell_ her—”

“Relax, Sun-blood. She still doesn’t know about the sabotage.” Runaan carried the pot to the table and set it down.

With Runaan back in one piece, Kuta did seem to relax, and curiosity replaced the worry in his clear voice. “How did you manage that?”

“You told me she has a heat-being. I invited her to use it to wrap and steam her freshly made frypods straight after preparing them. No time for interference. She made this batch while I loomed in her kitchen and scared away her grandchildren— _at her request_ , don’t look at me like that. In the future, she’ll cook them on the walk over here. She thought it was a practical idea. Though I think the exact word she used was ‘fun’.”

Kuta’s pale red eyebrows rippled, as if he couldn’t decide which emotion to wear. He finally settled on baffled gratitude. “Why did you do that for me? I told you I was perfectly safe drawing the glass out.”

Runaan glowered at him for a moment, though his true targets were probably scampering through a back alley somewhere. “No one should have to pick glass out of their food, Kuta. Not even elves with the Earth arcanum.” He plucked the topmost frypod from the pot and pressed it against Kuta’s mouth until the tinker opened up and took it in his teeth. Then Runaan picked up another and enjoyed its glass-free tastiness. “I like the etching pattern. Is it finished?”

“No,” Kuta said around his bite of frypod. “ _Someone_ disappeared in Sunfire territory for two hours this morning and didn’t tell me where he was going, so I was too worried to work.”

Runaan’s eyebrows twitched, and his eyes shifted to the unfinished sword.

All became clear. Runaan was putting too much pressure on Kuta, forcing him to stay and work when he had been worried about his guest’s safety. The Dragon Queen had given this mission to Runaan, not to Kuta. He had just adopted it of his own free will. But that didn’t mean his expectations, his drive, would match Runaan’s at every turn. If Runaan was going to collaborate fairly with Kuta, he needed to take the Sun-blood’s strengths and weaknesses into account.

He took a clearing breath and let it out with a nod of his horns. “Of course. My fault. When you’re done, perhaps we can make time for some more sparring.”

Kuta’s face brightened, literally, in a warm glow that faded into a broad smile. “I’m up for a break right now. What kind of sparring were you thinking of?”

Runaan studied him. With the concept of _deciding_ fresh in his mind, he wanted to see what Kuta would pick. “You choose.”

Kuta’s grin slowly shifted into a smirk. “Freehand.”

Runaan tipped his horns to the side and let his eyes rest upon the tinker’s sturdy shoulders. With no weapons to swing, their bout would quickly boil down to Runaan’s reflexes against Kuta’s raw strength. “You’re starting out with an advantage.”

A laugh escaped Kuta’s lips, and a light prickling flitted across Runaan’s skin. “You can always forfeit now.”

Runaan shot him a tolerant look of friendly challenge. “Ground rules first.”

Kuta nodded. “Appropriate terminology, considering that’s where I’m going to pin you.”

Runaan’s eyebrows rose at the Sun-blood’s easy confidence, but Runaan was also of the same mind. How to even the playing field? He brought his hands behind his back and began a slow circle around Kuta, evaluating his opponent as he would any trainee at the academy. “No Earth magic from you. No Moon magic from me.”

Kuta nodded, even though that limited Kuta far more than Runaan. “Accepted.”

“No mechanical help from your leg. No bracing like before. No bindings or chains or any such things.”

Kuta’s eyes popped in amused surprise. “Bindings or chains?” He gave his leg a shake, and it clinked gently. “What do you think I have in here?”

Runaan leaned in over Kuta’s shoulder from behind and murmured near his ear. “That is a valid question. You still haven’t told me. Is it a state secret?”

 “N-no.” Kuta’s breath seemed faint for some reason. “No secret.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you take it off.” Runaan admired Kuta’s technological marvel, but he didn’t trust its capabilities. He also wasn’t sure how far up it went, or how much Kuta relied on it.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” Kuta’s tone lilted with attitude as Runaan circled around to the front again. “I agree to rules that balance us out, not ones that give me a disadvantage. I trained myself for half a year to trigger my leg’s sunflower magic exactly as I wanted to. I don’t just fire this thing off on a whim. So I tell you what, Moonshadow. I’ll do my best to keep my leg from popping anything out— _chains_ _included_ —and if I can’t control it, then you win. But no poking at it to trigger it on purpose.”

Runaan gave a sharp nod of his horns. “Fair and accepted.”

Kuta’s smirk returned. “I won’t need it to win, anyway. I can still beat you with one hand tied behind my back.”

Runaan read his confident expression. Moonshadows trained to be ambidextrous, but metalsmiths probably didn’t. He lowered his head and offered a feral smile. “Also accepted.”

“What?” Kuta blurted. “No, hold on…”

Runaan’s turquoise gaze slid across the workshop to the thick spool of leather Kuta had used to wrap his sword handles. As he turned to fetch it, his eyes flicked back to Kuta, and he offered a tiny smile of triumph. He held up the spool of trimmed leather. “You can always forfeit now.”

Kuta’s amber eyes glowed as he lowered his chin.  “Do your worst, Moonshadow.”

Runaan strode back to him with the leather spool and drew a length free with one hand. “Oh, we’re nowhere near my worst, Sun-blood. Now, hold still.”

Kuta stood taut and unmoving as Runaan wrapped the leather around his right wrist, just under the cuff of his forge-sleeve. He bound it tightly enough not to come free, but not so tight that it cut off his circulation. The Moonshadow gave the binding three extra wraps around Kuta’s wrist for security, then he paused. His bright blue eyes lifted to meet Kuta’s, and without breaking eye contact, he added two more wraps.

Kuta was having trouble breathing normally. “You… seem to have done this before.”

Runaan stepped to Kuta’s side. He pressed two fingers against the inside of the tinker’s elbow, bent his arm, and drew his wrist behind his back. “Many times.”

A tiny breath escaped Kuta’s mouth like a wisp of fog rising from a Sun-dazzled lake.

Runaan barely noticed, as he was busy wrapping the leather spool around Kuta’s waist a few times, anchoring his bound wrist in place. Kuta closed his eyes and held very, very still. Runaan shifted around to his left side and made one final securing motion.

Kuta yelped as Runaan pulled the leather strip tight around his inner left thigh. “What—what are you doing?”

Runaan studied him calmly. “No cheating. A loop around your left leg will keep your right arm from sliding around to the front.”

“I… I wouldn’t cheat.”

“You wouldn’t _mean_ to cheat.” Runaan drew his dagger and sliced the leather free, slit its end down the middle, and secured it to the bands around Kuta’s waist. He set the spool down and put his hands on Kuta’s waist and right bicep, giving him an experimental shake to test the strength of the leather bindings. “Tight enough?”

“Mm-hah,” Kuta managed in a high voice.

Runaan looked at him with concern. “Can you breathe all right?”

Kuta shook his head and said, “Yes.” He tried again and got his voice under control, remembering how to nod. “Yes. I’m good.”

Runaan lifted his chin with a small smile. “Then let’s go.” He put a steadying hand on Kuta’s shoulder—he seemed to need it—and walked him toward the secret back door to the garden. “I’ll best you yet, Sun-blood.”

He wasn’t quite sure, but it sounded like Kuta whispered to himself, “I-I think you just did.”

Out in the back garden, the sun shone warmly but without much heat. Still, Runaan knew he was wearing too many layers. Even with one hand, Kuta would be able to grab a fistful of his tunic or his hoodie and trap him.

 _That’s not happening_ , Runaan thought, silently echoing Kuta’s earlier words. He unbuckled his belt and shrugged off his long tunic, laying them easily across the flat boulder near the back door. He peeled his hoodie from his shoulders and dropped it atop his tunic. Runaan’s skin pebbled in the brisk winter air, and his horns tingled.

He turned to find Kuta staring. Then his eyes fell to Kuta’s bright red scarf. Since Kuta’s dominant hand was currently busy being tied behind his back, Runaan stepped close and untucked the scarlet fabric with both hands, easing it free.

“No entanglements,” he said, as he pooled the scarf atop his hoodie.

“Yes, that would be _terrible_.” Kuta’s voice held an odd note that Runaan couldn’t decipher. “What about your hair?”

Runaan paused. His fighting style had been adapted to work with, and protect, a long tail of hair down his back. Not free-flowing locks, which would be much easier to grab. But he didn’t want to take up his old hairstyle just yet. He wasn’t ready to be that elf again.

Kuta sighed. “You know where the leather is. Cut yourself a strip and bind your hair back. It’s only fair, since you can’t exactly grab mine.”

Runaan’s eyes sought out Kuta’s thick tufts. Dark near the roots, their reddened tips were easily long enough to sieve his fingers through for a solid grip. “Can’t I?”

Kuta’s eyes darkened. “Ah, _blazes_ , Moonshadow. New rule, then: no purposeful hair pulling.”

“Fair and accepted.” Runaan strode inside and returned momentarily. He held a thin strip of leather in his teeth while his hands worked a short length of loosely woven braid into the back of his hair, right at the base of his head. Unwilling to give Kuta any extra handholds, he made sure his slender side braids were tucked well into the back braid, too. With a quick twist of long practice, he tied the braid off behind his shoulders. The long, heavy fall of hair from below the leather strip tumbled against his back as it had done for all his years in the Dragon Guard, evoking memories and emotions Runaan did not want to deal with.

_Kuta. Focus on Kuta._

Runaan raised his eyes—for he had been staring aimlessly at the grass—and found Kuta already focusing on him.

“I can’t believe I let you tie me up in my own back yard,” Kuta said lightly.

Runaan paced out into the open grass a few steps from him. “Wait until I pin you down in your own back yard. See how that makes you feel.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening, either.”

Runaan only chuckled. “We’ll see. No one ever bested me at the academy. Except for Rayla, and that was just a fluke.”

The Sun-blood’s eyes widened. “Oh. _Ohh_. I… Oh.”

Runaan tipped his horns. “What?”

Kuta looked down, and his cheeks flared a deep red. “Of course you must have trained your recruits like this.”

Runaan held his empty hands wide. What other explanation could there be for his evident skill in tying Kuta up?

To make up for his lapse, Kuta straightened his shoulders and said, “So many of these rules seem to be in your favor. Cheating?”

“It isn’t cheating. It’s tactics. And besides, you agreed to them.”

Kuta frowned thoughtfully. “I do want to give you a fair chance, Moonshadow. I just don’t see how you’re possibly going to overpower me, even like this.” He waggled his restrained elbow. “How about another rule?”

“I’m listening.”

“I can pin you to win, but you have to…” he fumbled at the neckline of his shirt, “…take this necklace to win. Your dexterity against my strength.”

Runaan studied the necklace. The chain was formed of pure black stone beads, and its smooth stone pendant winked with a deep silvery gray in the sunlight. It bore the imprint of the Earth rune.

“Accepted.” Runaan lunged as soon as the word left his tongue.

Kuta barely had time to tuck the necklace under his shirt before Runaan’s fingers snatched at his exposed neck. Kuta ducked away to the left, but Runaan had already pivoted around behind him and was reaching for his neck with his other hand. Kuta leaped forward into a roll and sprang out of it to his feet. Runaan was right behind him, but Kuta anticipated his reach and ducked under it.

Before Runaan could re-center, Kuta stood and body-checked him from the side, hip to hip. Runaan found himself several feet away, landing with a graceful skid on the grass.

“Cheating?” he called.

“That wasn’t Earth magic. That was a lifetime of pounding hot metal.” Kuta’s grin gleamed.

A hard, eager hiss of intent slipped through Runaan’s teeth, and he leaped again. Kuta stood straight and pivoted just enough to pull his necklace out of the reach of Runaan’s fingers. Runaan adapted, taking shorter, quicker strikes. But Kuta bent like a reed and spun away like a twirling seed, and no matter how fast Runaan struck, Kuta’s necklace always remained frustratingly out of reach.

 _Impossible_.

Runaan pushed himself to move even faster, but Kuta stepped and dodged like a dancer, far and away above any skill Runaan had assumed he possessed. He gritted his teeth, feinted a body check that forced Kuta to back away, and instead stepped in time with him to maintain distance. His hand shot forward. The necklace gleamed just beyond his fingertips.

_This time, I have it._

His right hand came to a sudden and immediate stop, and the jarring halt rippled up his arm. Kuta’s necklace bounced with his movement, and the pendant brushed against the pad of Runaan’s middle finger.

The Sun-blood’s left hand had claimed his wrist.

Runaan’s eyes flicked to Kuta’s face.

Kuta smirked.

With a single, fluid arcing motion, Kuta stepped back and pulled Runaan forward. Kuta’s hand swooped down and then doubled back over itself. Runaan found his right arm locked up before he could pivot out of the hold. His back thudded to the grass. One of Kuta’s knees landed on his chest and the other fell on the long white tail of his hair, pinning him down.

Runaan heaved for breath beneath the weight of Kuta’s knee. The tinker didn’t seem winded in the slightest. And he didn’t have to smile so smugly, either.

But he had won according to the rules Runaan had agreed to. Runaan rocked his head against the grass, chagrined, and felt his horn points brush the grass. “I yield, Sun-blood.”

Kuta’s smirk blossomed into a full smile. “I did try to be fair, didn’t I?”

Runaan smiled and released a small sigh of defeat. “You did. You said you used to fight. But I didn’t expect you to be this good.”

A soft look of pleased surprise came over Kuta’s face. “That’s flattering, coming from you. My style didn’t do me much good in the last duel I was in.”

Runaan’s gaze fell to Kuta’s prosthetic. He didn’t ask.

Kuta answered him anyway, wearing a wry half-smile. “I couldn’t safely absorb all the heat from a Sunfire with heat-being. Not when she was deliberately trying to set my leg on fire.”

Runaan’s eyes widened.

Kuta waved away his alarm with his free hand. “It was long ago and far away, Moonshadow. She deserved to win. She wanted him— _it_ more than I did. Anyway. Help you up?” He held out his hand.

As Runaan reached for it, he said, “I’m going to keep trying until I best you.”

Kuta clasped his hand and began to rise, pulling Runaan with him easily. “Accepted, Moonshad—”

A hard smile flashed across Runaan’s face. Using Kuta’s momentum, he shifted his weight to his free hand and scissored his legs, wrapping them around Kuta’s torso and flipping him head over heels to the ground, where the tinker landed with a heavy whump.

“—ow,” Kuta finished with a wheeze.

Runaan landed atop him, straddling his chest. Quick as a flash of moonlight, his free hand darted out and snatched Kuta’s necklace free. He held it up and let the Earth pendant swing in the morning light.

With a cocky tip of his horns, he murmured, “How about that.”

Kuta’s eyes widened as he lay in Runaan’s shadow. All he could see of Runaan against the dazzling glare of the sun was the glow of his eyes and the dark silhouette of his curving horns.

“Do you yield?”

Kuta couldn’t seem to speak. Runaan eased up on his chest in case he needed more air. He reached forward, gently took the base of Kuta’s left horn between his thumb and finger, and rocked his head back and forth.

“Do you yield, Sun-blood?”

Kuta’s chest began to shake with silent laughter. “Ah, Runaan. You really are my shade now.”

Runaan went still. Belatedly, he realized Kuta was making a joke. The shade from his horned silhouette fell right across Kuta’s face. He turned to check the sun’s position, and its rays fell across his face, bringing his features out of shadow.

Between his thighs, Runaan felt Kuta inhale sharply. He looked back down at his conquered sparring partner. “You’d better yield soon, or we’ll be out here until the full moon tomorrow night.”

The tinker’s entire body tensed as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Ah, Sun have _mercy_ , Runaan, you’re killing me. Of course I yield.”

Runaan rose lightly and pulled the shorter, sturdier elf to his feet. “A wise choice.” He immediately set about freeing Kuta’s right arm from its bindings. Kuta stood still again as Runaan unwrapped him with sure fingers. Runaan draped the leather loops over his shoulder and took Kuta’s right wrist in his hands. His fingers slipped under the edge of Kuta’s forge-sleeve and stroked gently, rubbing any lost circulation back into place. “I hope that wasn’t too tight.”

Kuta’s chest heaved like a bellows. His hand shook in Runaan’s fingers. “I… you…” He pressed his lips together and tried again. “I have more work to do. Best get to it.” He turned and stalked back toward the workshop, leaving Runaan alone in the garden.

Runaan slowly retrieved his hoodie and tunic and buckled his belt back in place. He thought about heading inside to return Kuta’s scarf, but something about the way the tinker had departed told Runaan that he needed some time to himself.

His eyes fell to the flat-topped boulder before him. His fingers played with the softness of Kuta’s scarf. His blood had gotten pretty heated during their sparring just now. _Perhaps I need some time, too._

He settled into place atop the rock, folding his legs beneath him and closing his eyes. The Moon called to him, and he leaned into its sway. Slowly, slowly, it was rising from down on his left. Its power pulsed through his arcanum, nearly bursting with fullness, effusing his soul with light.

 _Moon reflects Sun_.

Runaan’s eyebrows twitched. He hadn’t intended that thought. It had risen unbidden.

_I am still deciding._

_“No, you’re not.”_ Kuta’s words, uttered during their first sparring session, echoed forward into his mind.

_I am. I need to listen to myself._

“What do you think you’re doing right now?”

Runaan’s eyes slid open in surprise at where his meditation had taken him, only to realize that Kuta was actually standing right beside him, arms akimbo. Runaan glanced up and silently handed over Kuta’s scarf, which had been resting in his lap. As the tinker adjusted it into place around his neck, Runaan murmured, “I’m meditating. Does it bother you?”

“Not in the least.” But the way Kuta spun on his prosthetic heel and stalked back inside seemed to indicate that _something_ was bothering him.

Runaan closed his eyes again and sought the Moon’s anchoring weight. Perhaps the tinker would benefit from some meditation lessons.

But when he offered the option an hour later, Kuta was already engrossed in his work and barely seemed to hear Runaan speak. Runaan was content to let him be—or more accurately, he was hesitant to push. The sooner the bowblade was completed, the sooner they could discuss other things. Namely, weapons for the other trainees. Runaan felt an uncomfortable block whenever he thought about telling Kuta his deeper thoughts. They had no place in the mission.

 _After, maybe?_ a soft voice whispered as Runaan sat across the room from Kuta, idly sharpening some of the bladed weapons he displayed on the wall, though they did not need it.

Runaan blinked it away. He could not think of _after_. There might not be an _after_.

Night fell, and Runaan polished off a few more frypods and took to bed early. Kuta barely acknowledged his good-night farewell, so busy was he, surrounded by new sketches and wooden models for some kind of connective handle Runaan didn’t yet see the purpose for.

He undid his combat braid before he climbed into bed, carefully setting the leather strip on the little table next to the moonfly jar. As his fingers redid the smaller braids that swooped below his horns, he frowned. He wasn’t comfortable with how easily he’d adapted to wearing even part of his old hairstyle again—he still had much to process, and no time to spare in which to do it. With his hair in a loose sprawl across the sand bed, he slept fitfully, and his dreams were full of moonlight glimmers.

 

***

 

At his sketching desk, Kuta heard Runaan’s “Rest well” and _mm-hmm_ ed in reply, but the moment that the Moonshadow vanished down the connecting hall, Kuta slumped forward onto his elbows and buried his face in his hands. Exhaustion fuzzed the edges of his mind to gray wool, and he barely understood the sketches he’d made in the last few hours, let alone from days past. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.”

He wandered across the room and poured himself some cider, downing the whole cup in one go. “Is it a Moonshadow thing?” he murmured to himself. “Or just a Runaan thing? I don’t know which is worse.”

With a second cupful of cider in his hand, Kuta tightened up on his prosthetic’s settings by activating a selection of glowing patches of skin and silently tiptoed down the hallway. He leaned against the smooth stone wall beside Runaan’s door and pressed his fingertips against the rock, feeling through the wall, to the floor, to the bed.

He felt the slight shifts in Runaan’s weight as he undid the braid in his hair. He sensed when Runaan set his boots on the floor next to the bed. His eyes widened when Runaan wriggled down into the sand, making a comfortable hollow for himself, and he could picture exactly how the former Dragon Guard was lying by the sand he displaced. As if the stone had burned him, Kuta yanked his fingers away and tiptoed back to the workshop.

He needed to work.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuta still huddled on the ground, desperately seeking the approaching mercenaries with his Earth arcanum. There would be six, he knew. There were always six. But where—
> 
> Amaya leaped to her feet on the far side of Janai and ripped the last root in two with her bare hands. The heat collar around her neck glinted dully in the faint moonlight. Her angry expression fell on Kuta, and their eyes met and locked.
> 
>  
> 
> _Will she run? Or will she fight? And if she does fight, will she fight us, or them?_

Runaan sat in the infinite, breathless blackness of the coin with his legs pulled up to his chest. His face rested atop his arms as he hugged his knees. If the only black he saw was that inside his eyelids, he could imagine himself anywhere.

_Anywhere but here._

He felt cold, as if he sat in chill black sand on an utterly Moonless night. Or in a vast pool of lightless water, deep beneath the surface of the world. _Anywhere but here._

His Moon was waning. The light of his arcanum was nearly extinguished. It wouldn’t be long now.

So much time out of the Moonlight wasn’t healthy for any Moonshadow. But no soul could live separate from the world forever. Not without dire consequences. Not without changing. _Twisting_.

Something moved in the black. Slow and subtle, it shifted softly, ghosting against Runaan’s awareness.

 _Kuta?_ Runaan strained his focus, reaching out. But no golden-green glow met him. Only the dark.

Only what moved in the dark.

A sudden approaching pressure brought something massive yet invisible to the forefront of Runaan’s mind, as if it loomed over him, ready to strike. Every sense he possessed screamed that something was horribly wrong, that he was under attack.

Despite the exhaustion that clung to every tattered fiber of his soul, Runaan flung himself into a state of mental defensiveness, ready to fight back. Faint images of black water splashed around his feet as he moved in the darkness of the coin prison. _What are you?_

But the threatening force eased back out of his consciousness, leaving him off-balance, alone.

Runaan pressed his hands to his eyes and groaned. After a long eternity of exhaustion and anguish, coherent thought finally returned. And with it, the heavy mantle of reality. _Perhaps this is my death, seeing if I am ready to accept it._

And he would have been, if not for the soft glow of color that always pushed back his darkness.

If not for Kuta.

Kuta, who probably wasn’t real. Not in this place.

_I’m holding on to the past. To a fiction. I should let go. Move on. Cross over. My Moon is waning, and I’m breaking. I’m dying. Nothing is natural about prolonging that moment. Not this prison, and not my denial of my fate._

_I should cross over._

_I should…_

_…I will._

A deep, cool sensation filled him as he let go of his final reluctance. He was a Moonshadow. Death had never been something to fear. But Kuta, and Runaan’s sudden, dazzling connection to him, had somehow climbed inside his soul and changed him. Shifted his needs, his priorities. Runaan had always known what was most important to him. Speed came from clarity, and clarity from self-awareness. The most effective assassin was the one who did not look away from the shadows in his own heart.

_Kuta called me his shade. I am the shadow on his life. He will shine brighter without me._

He didn’t _want_ to die. He _wanted_ to stay with Kuta. But it could not be. Runaan was dying. And Kuta was young and beautiful and generous. He would find love again. He _deserved_ to find love again.

And if he never did… then Runaan would be waiting for him on the other side. Where he belonged.

The assassin gathered the scraps of his focus, what little remained of his existence and purpose, and began to weave them into a shroud. His crossing would be rough without the proper ritual, but he would find his way. He’d been to the spirit realm before. Its signposts never changed.

And soon, he would see all those who had crossed before him. Friends, family. Enemies. All had moved on. All had let go.

_Just let go._

The thought came from all around him. Runaan nodded to himself and kept preparing. In his tattered state, he did not perceive that the blackness had never retreated at all. It had surrounded him, encapsulated him. And on the outside of its deadly sphere, a golden-green glow flared  desperately, trying to force its way through to him.

 

***

 

“Someone’s following us.” His Earth senses triggered, Kuta’s whisper barely carried on the warm evening breeze.

Janai’s only response was to tighten one hand on her sword and the other on Amaya’s shoulder. The human general slid her eyes back to the Sunfire, used to Janai’s regular checks on her position after two nights of walking. Used to her watchful gaze in general, even as they slept in sheltered caves during the day, avoiding the sunlight that would give power to any Sunfires on their trail.

Kuta had no time to explain further. Twisting roots from the willow trees along the stream they were following suddenly launched from the damp soil. They encircled ankles and knees, dragging all three of them down. Kuta flared his Earth magic instinctively, and the roots loosened enough that he slipped free before he crashed down and damaged his swollen arm further. He had the presence of mind to roll onto his back and lie still, listening, feeling.

Several sets of footsteps rushed toward him from both sides, their vibrations hidden behind small circles of absolute silence. Earthbloods, then. And Earthbloods who stalked elves into Katolis could only mean one thing: Earthtouch mercenaries. Neutral Earthbloods, grounded, having chosen neither side in the conflict between humans and elves.

Kuta had only picked out the pattern of their steps after feeling the tiny silences press against his consciousness for light knew how long. And then he’d nearly been too late with his warning. _Might still be too late._

Earthtouches were no relation to Star Touches, though their remoteness from both sides of the great conflict often made the term’s use popular on the other, much larger sides of the Earthbloods’ splintered allegiances—the Forsaken and the Loyalists alike. Earthtouches were very good at what they did, which was always whatever they said they would do. They were often called blood traitors and worse, and their honor was often all they had to their name. Kuta spared a heartfelt pang for Runaan. Moonshadow assassins and Earthtouch mercenaries shared a large overlap in capability and in their sense of duty. Being assaulted by a group so like the one his beloved had led into Katolis was messing with Kuta’s head _hard_. He didn’t like it one bit.

Beside Kuta, Amaya wrestled with her roots in angry silence, snapping and ripping them apart. Kuta sent a little magic her way, but the vines around his own legs immediately tightened. Kuta’s half-strength arcanum couldn’t keep a full Earthblood at bay. Janai tried to draw her sword but the roots ensnared its hilt and scabbard. The Sunfire knight rolled onto her back, scrabbling for leverage and growling like an enraged cat, but the roots only tightened.

“Janai, don’t!” Kuta’s hissed warning was too late, though.  Janai’s skin crackled with glowing lines of power and began to hiss against the roots, setting them aflame.

But the roots retaliated by growing vicious thorns and stabbing at her. The first few merely scorched into ash at the touch of her heat-being, but the Earthbloods who still lurked in the shadows around them were well trained. The next several thorns formed with rough metal and stone edges. Janai cried out as they dug and stabbed at her, and all her attention shifted to grabbing the thorns and crushing or melting them with her hands.

Kuta still huddled on the ground, desperately seeking the approaching mercenaries with his Earth arcanum. There would be six, he knew. There were always six. But where—

Amaya leaped to her feet on the far side of Janai and ripped the last root in two with her bare hands. The heat collar around her neck glinted dully in the faint moonlight. Her angry expression fell on Kuta, and their eyes met and locked.

_Will she run? Or will she fight? And if she does fight, will she fight us, or them?_

Three of the elves eased into the clearing on the far side of the stream, and three more sloped out of the shrubbery on the near side, surrounding Kuta and his unlikely companions. Garbed in well-secured browns and greens, they blended into the night and moved like shifting shadows. Their skin ranged from golden brown to coppery to deep gleaming black, but they all shared the color of Kuta’s dark green horns. Kuta’s heart pulled at him—partly toward the sight of his father’s people, whom he rarely saw, and partly away from their terrible skill and deadly intent.

Amaya had no such dilemma. She grabbed a ropy length of root in each hand and swung hard at two of the mercenaries behind her.

“No, wait!” Kuta cried, but her back was already turned. His words rang uselessly into the night.

Janai growled in angry pain as a bladed thorn slashed her shoulder, leaving an angry gash.

The mercenaries drew short swords that gleamed in hues of brown, green, and deep red in the dim light. Kuta’s heart nearly stopped. Those heartblades could snap out into any shape their owners required—their whiplike metal could reach much further than it appeared—and snap back in the blink of an eye.

Kuta had rarely seen a heartblade. Seeing six at once told him that his life was in mortal danger. He flashed back to the moment he’d teased Runaan about the Moonshadow’s grumpiness over the Earth magic in his sword— _“Do you suspect that the humans’ invasion was secretly planned by Earthbloods?”—_ and felt his heart pang with longing and alarm. Earthtouch mercenaries were capable of more than even Moonshadow assassins knew of. Kuta had decided not to mention that fact to Runaan. And now he was facing them himself, without Runaan at his side. Part of him felt he deserved this for his secrecy.

With a bright flare of his skin, he triggered the sunflower magic in his prosthetic and activated his emergency failsafe. He’d hoped to save it for escaping the castle with Runaan safely rescued. But his odds of reaching the castle intact had suddenly skyrocketed.

Harnessing the power of the marble-sized primal stone hidden deep within his metal leg, Kuta shifted to his knees and sketched a quick Sun rune. “ _Sol Flagro!_ ”

He could _feel_ the refined ore of several heartblades snap out toward him as the Earthbloods instinctively attempted to stop him. But they were too late. The massive flare of light from his spell blossomed at his fingertip and blasted across the small clearing. In its incandescent golden light, he clearly saw Janai with her eyes squeezed shut. The back of Amaya’s short brown hair flared with coppery highlights as she slashed at her targets with the roots she held. And six startled Earthtouches with expressions varying from determination to shock to pain, their markings gleaming emerald in the intense illumination.

He shut his eyes as the blaze washed over everyone, then leaped to his feet amid the elves’ cries of pain. The mercenaries’ control over the roots attacking Janai ceased in an instant, and she rolled onto her hands and knees with a feral growl.

“Stop! Everyone, stop!” Kuta cried. He dashed over to Amaya and threw himself between her and the two now-blinded elves she was about to kill. Holding his hand up to her, he repeated himself with wide eyes. “Stop.”

Amaya stared at him in furious disbelief. Janai stood and growled, “They attacked us, Kuta. I’m not stopping.” Amaya’s eyes flickered toward the Sunfire as she got to her feet behind the human general, sword poised to take on the elves, and she reluctantly nodded agreement.

The Earthtouches might blinded for a moment, but their heartblades were still deadly. Kuta needed a different solution.

A diplomatic one. His skin prickled and his heart squeezed. A nostalgic warmth rushed forward from his memories, brushing his cheeks and bringing a smile tinged with pain to his lips. _Father, wherever your spirit resides, guide me now._

“You’re Earthtouch mercenaries.” He felt Karthaza’s calming empathy soothe his words into a gentle statement, empty of accusation.

“That we are, Xadian.” One of the elves that Kuta had stepped toward lowered his weapon. The wiry mercenary’s eyes remained on the human general even as he tipped his deep green horns toward Kuta. “If you have any insults you wish to hurl our way, best get to it. You won’t have the chance later.”

The other mercenaries studied Kuta cautiously, and Janai and Amaya looked at him, too. The weight of all their minds, all their emotions, settled on Kuta’s shoulders like a rain-drenched cloak. Heavy, uncomfortable. But he was used to such weight from years of living among Sunfires. He took a slow breath and spoke.

“No insults. My father was Earthtouch.”

Janai lifted her chin and lowered her brows, considering. Amaya shifted her gaze from Kuta to the elven leader in confusion.

“His name?”

Kuta stood tall. “Karthaza, Earthblood Ambassador to the King of the Dragons.”

As one, all the Earthbloods performed the same gesture, lifting their hands from their hearts while bowing their heads, as if pausing in respect for the passing of a lost soul. Kuta’s heart tripped over itself at the solemn moment.

“I am Bavar. I knew of your father. You have our sorrow,” the Earthtouch leader said. “We… were not told that one of our targets was Karthaza’s son. But we accepted this mission and we must see it through. I’m sorry. Truly. I wish it were not so.”

That sent Kuta’s heart ringing sharply in another direction. Runaan had said the same thing. And then he’d led five other elves to disaster and got himself captured—or worse. His swollen arm gave a sudden, hard twinge. A heavy wind of inevitability seemed to blast through his mind, through time and space, and drag everyone—Janai, Amaya, the Earthbloods, himself—away to the same terrible fate Runaan and his team had suffered. More would die. The war would rage on, uncaring about one little skirmish in a tiny clearing in eastern Katolis. Kuta’s mission would fail. He’d never see Runaan again.

Runaan would die alone, with no one to save him. No one to tell him how much he was loved. How he was treasured. _Runaan would die alone._ And if the world was feeling merciful, he would do so quickly.

Kuta literally gasped from the effort of not breaking down as that agonizing thought flooded him, crushing his heart. That the best outcome of this disaster was Runaan’s swift demise, preventing him from a long and torturous existence in which every painful breath he drew proved to him, over and over, that no one loved him. That he was forgotten.

In a denial driven by desperation, Kuta flung his soul into the void, driving toward Runaan with one arcanum, burning his love as fuel with the other. _I will find you._ “Nngh.” Kuta pressed a palm to one eye as his empathy rumbled to life on a level he had never felt before.

“Don’t, please don’t…” Was he talking to Runaan, to the Earthtouches? To himself? “Don’t do this. _Please_ , this will only end in death.”

Bavar rested his fist over his heart. “It has been sworn. I’m sorry.”

Kuta’s fingers fluttered toward him, waving off the inevitable, then holding Bavar’s words in place. If they escaped, the idea that flickered to life in Kuta’s mind might die. “Who, who did you swear it to? To Sol Regem?”

Bavar shared a guarded glance with his fellow mercenaries. “No.”

Kuta couldn’t help the alarmed glance he flung at Janai. If Sol Regem hadn’t commissioned the strike, that left only one likely figure.

If the Corona had ordered Janai’s death, then she could never return home again.

But Janai was in too much pain to grasp the depth of Bavar’s denial. With a heavy groan, she sank to her knees and clutched at her shoulder, where the deepest of her metal thorn wounds lay.

 _If the Corona had ordered Janai’s death… If…_ Kuta felt a sprig of hope come to life and stretch toward the sun. “Tell me exactly, Bavar. _Exactly_ the words you swore.”

Bavar’s dark eyes glittered in the night, and Kuta felt a shiver of hope. The canny Earthblood knew what Kuta was trying, and he wasn’t going to stop him. _A chance, that’s all I need. Just a chance._

“The Corona bade me swear to carry out this command: to strike down that cowardly Blade Janai with gravethorn oil, make sure her half-breed companion can’t lift a finger to save her, and leave the human’s blood in the earth where the sun will never shine on it.”

Kuta’s eyes widened, and then so did his smile. _I can work with that_. “She must have been really furious, or she’d have watched her words more carefully.”

One corner of Bavar’s mouth quirked into a shadowy smile. “What do you suggest, then, son of Karthaza?”

Kuta’s heart pounded in his temples. Channeling his father’s charm and Runaan’s velvet-steel will, he said, “I suggest you consider your mission completed and go home.”

Amaya cocked her head at him and drew her dark brows down. Kuta offered her a confident chin lift. Runaan wouldn’t show uncertainty in such a critical moment, so he wouldn’t either.

On the other side of him, Bavar let out a single amused _ha_. “Care to run that by me one more time?”

Kuta’s left arm throbbed like a warning drum. His pulse felt like a fleeing swarm of bats. But he turned his head and fixed Bavar with a solid amber gaze. “I expect so, because I’d hate for you to think you weren’t entirely finished here. Look.” He pointed to Janai as she slumped forward onto one arm on the grass. “You’ve struck Janai down. Your first objective is complete. Yes?”

Bavar’s eyebrows rose. “Technically, yes. She is down, and we put her there.”

Kuta felt Runaan’s smile pull at one corner of his mouth. “Technically correct is the best kind of correct. Now, about making sure I can’t lift a finger to save her from the effects of the gravethorn. What will you accept in this regard, other than my death?”

Bavar’s eyebrows climbed even higher, and he looked at his two closest companions with a wry chuckle. “I didn’t realize we were negotiating.”

Relief flooded Kuta’s chest, easing the cold knot there. “I am my father’s son. What will you accept? As you see, some of my fingers are already out of commission, so that makes your job even easier.”

Bavar’s dark green horns dipped in confusion as he studied Kuta. “Are you saying you want me to tie your fingers down so you can’t lift them?”

Kuta’s grin was nearly incandescent, and his cheek markings flared softly. Bavar was indeed negotiating. It was just a matter of time and persuasion. “An excellent suggestion. May I counter-offer with the notion of a sworn oath not to lend her any aid until such point as she either recovers or dies?”

Janai growled in irritation. “Kuta, you son of a—”

Bavar’s sharp laugh cut her off. “She will not recover unless she is given aid, though. If you so swear, you’re leaving her to her fate as the Corona wishes. Is that your intention? To save yourself at her expense?”

Kuta sent a soft vibration out through his prosthetic and through the ground, seeking something to fulfill the third mission objective so no one had to bury Amaya alive. _There! Fire and blood, this could actually work._ “That’s not your concern, Bavar. I so swear not to lift a finger to aid Janai, on my honor as a smith and on my father’s name.”

The Earthtouch quirked one eyebrow. “As you wish. But unless the third aspect of our mission is fulf—”

Kuta lifted his good arm and pointed across the stream, toward a fold in the rocks past the point of sight. If he could sense it, the Earthbloods could, too.

Bavar certainly did. His eyes unfocused for a moment as he sent out his own senses, and he needed only a moment to catch up to Kuta’s logic. His eyes swept Kuta from head to toe—of two arcana, two tribes, with his prosthetic foot and his Earthtouch heritage. “Out of respect to your father and the memory of what he suffered on Winter’s Turn, I will accept your interpretation of the mission fulfillment parameters. If she will.” He gestured to Amaya, and Kuta’s worry spiked.

He turned to Amaya, searching for the simplest way to explain the complex history of the Earthblood elves, hoping to persuade her to shed even one drop of blood in order to save them all. Because _he needed her_ to save Janai. Kuta’s oath meant she was the only one who could. But would she? Or would she fight to the death to spite them all and drag Kuta’s quest to save Runaan into their graves?

But Amaya had followed everything closely enough. Her dark eyes narrowed. Shifted to Janai, who glared up at everyone, arm beginning to tremble as the gravethorn saturated her body. It returned to Kuta’s amber gaze, flicked to Bavar, and settled once again on Kuta.

Her hands flexed into fists before loosening again. Kuta’s heart fluttered in memory—Runaan’s hands did that on the regular. The human general nodded once. Not to him, but to Bavar.

Kuta’s eyes locked onto Amaya’s, and his brows drew together, seeking confirmation. She gave him an impatient look and let her emotions loose. Kuta’s head jerked back from the sudden flood, but he felt her confidence, her frustration with few options, and her determination, woven together by a thread of fear. His jaw dropped open in surprise. He’d hurt her in his anger the day they met—used his empathy as a weapon—yet here she was, under duress, surrounded by enemies, picking him of all people to trust. To communicate the way he would understand. To choose him as an ally, however temporary. Her head was clearer than his. Kuta found himself desperately grateful for Amaya’s stability, and he offered her a nod and a heartfelt smile.

Bavar threw back his horns and laughed suddenly. “Well, this is a fine thing! A human and two elves teaming up to play wits with a team of Earthtouch mercenaries and outwit the Corona herself! Ahh, I haven’t had such fun in months.” He waved his hand, dismissing his mission and its deadly objectives. “We have an accord, Kuta. Lead the way to that cave, and we’ll see about fulfilling the letter of my objectives.”

Kuta backed toward the stream and held his good hand up, indicating he had no intention of causing trouble. Bavar’s two closest companions stepped forward to assist Janai to her feet. She struggled a bit as the gravethorn oil worked its way into her system, but they were surprisingly gentle with her for mercenaries who’d been ready to kill her ten minutes earlier. Amaya followed Kuta, keeping Bavar in the corner of her eye. They forded the knee-deep stream, and the other three Earthtouches kept their heartblades trained on Amaya. She merely smirked at their deadly attention and kept walking as if they didn’t exist.

Around two curves in the foot of the weathered cliff, a narrow, sheltered crevice wound its way back through the cream-colored rock. Kuta lit up his horns like torches as they all made their way  deep inside. The Earthtouches guided Janai to an angled wall of smooth stone and settled her in a seated position against it. Then Bavar seized Kuta by his good hand and pulled downward.

Though he could have overpowered the lanky mercenary, Kuta let the elf press his hand into the powdery dirt inside the cool cave.

“For your honor’s sake.” Bavar’s smirk was audible in the dimness. “Can’t have you left uncertain whether you’ve lifted a finger to help or not.”

Kuta knelt in the cold, dry dirt and offered Bavar a dark, humorless smile. Runaan again, though the words were his own. “Yes, that would be _terrible_.”

“As for you,” Bavar said, turning to face Amaya as two of his Earthtouches held her arms, “there’s still one little task that needs completing.” He drew a dagger from its sheath at his hip.

“No, wait,” Kuta called. Bavar turned to look at him, and past the mercenary’s shoulder, Kuta could see Amaya’s face with a burgeoning scowl. The Sun-blood gave her a look that begged her to trust him. “Give her the knife. Let her do it herself.”

Beyar snorted, but he caught Kuta’s earnest expression. “You’re serious.”

“I am. We can all get through this alive, if we just stay calm.”

“You trust her?”

Kuta’s eyes locked onto Amaya’s. “I trust her determination.”

Bavar glanced from Kuta to Amaya. Then the wiry Earthtouch flicked his dagger, and it buried itself in the dirt at Amaya’s feet. He waved silently to the elves holding her arms, and they backed away a cautious step. Amaya rolled her bare shoulders, and for a single, teetering moment, Kuta feared he’d read her wrong, just as he once feared he’d read Runaan wrong.

But he hadn’t. Amaya slowly retrieved the dagger and stepped into the clear light of Kuta’s horns. She placed its blade against the outside edge of her hand and drew a short slice. A single drop of her blood fell to the earth, which lay untouched by the sun deep in the cave, just as the Corona had unthinkingly requested.

Bavar nodded his horns at her. As he turned to bid Kuta farewell, his dagger planted itself at his feet. He and Kuta both stared at it.

Amaya merely smirked, waiting.

Slowly Bavar retrieved his blade, wiped it clean, and returned it to its sheath. He offered Kuta a short nod of respect. “Good fortune to you, Kuta. This is one mission I’m happy to find alternate fulfilment for. For your sake, if not for theirs. I can’t guarantee that others won’t come after you. But it’ll take some time. I figure I owe your father a nice, leisurely stroll back to the border. It’ll give me time to come up with a nice story to tell the Corona. Wherever you’re headed, I hope you can reach it within the next few days.”

Kuta wasn’t sure they’d reach Katolis Castle in that time frame, but he nodded confidently anyway. “Thank you for your help. And for your understanding.”

Bavar began to leave the cave, and his mercenaries trailed after him. He slowed and paused though, and they stepped outside to await him. Amaya glanced at Kuta and the hand he pressed to the dirt and stepped over to check on Janai, turning her back to Kuta and crouching beside the Sunfire.

Kuta studied her for a moment, then focused his attention on the mercenary leader. He even stood like Runaan—tall and rangy, supremely confident, with a light in his eyes that shone harder than it needed to.

“Why are you doing this?” Bavar asked.

A dozen explanations flitted over Kuta’s tongue, but the one that came out was the simplest and most truthful. “For love.”

Bavar’s dark brows flickered upward, and a surprised smile eased his features into an easy softness. “Then I wish you success. Karthaza would be pleased for you. Earth guide your steps, Kuta.”

“And yours,” Kuta replied, in the traditional Earthblood farewell. His heart swelled with warmth at the thought of Karthaza’s approval of his son’s choice in love. It didn’t matter in that moment that Kuta would never have met Runaan if not for the tragedy at Winter’s Turn. Kuta could almost feel his father’s comforting hand on his shoulder. _I just want him back, Father._

In moments, the Earthtouch mercenaries were gone, and he crouched alone, horns alight in the pale, dusty cave, pinned down by his own honor, with a human general and a poisoned Sunfire—

 _Of course._ He knew a way to help, but first he had to get Amaya’s attention.

He glanced over to where Amaya crouched. One of her hands reached out and gently turned Janai’s chin toward the light while the other probed a cut along Janai’s cheek with careful fingers. The Sunfire was nearly out cold from the gravethorn oil, eyes fluttering, but she managed to look up at Amaya and ask, “What’s happening to me?”

To Kuta’s shock, Amaya smoothed a hand across Janai’s braids and turned to look for something to help her with. Caught off guard by the human’s unexpected tenderness, Kuta belatedly bobbed his head side to side and drew her eyes to him.

 _What?_ Her sign was clear.

Kuta took a deep breath. “I know how to save her.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you knew,” Kuta began, “but you have no idea, do you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a rough sigh.
> 
> Runaan tried to read his face and picked up only desperation. “No idea about what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that thing you've been waiting for? 
> 
> Enjoy.

Runaan woke to a pitcher of honeyed lemon water by the bedside. His reaction was caught between frustration and admiration. Kuta could be as silent as a Moonshadow when he wanted to be. Runaan hadn’t thought that was possible, but clearly he had much to learn of the ways of Earth and Sun.

He finished off his second glass as he strode into the workshop. Kuta was standing at a work station near the door with his back to Runaan, making twisting motions with a tool in his hand. On the table before him lay a bow whose staves were formed by the swords Kuta had created.

Fascinated to see the final product, Runaan strode to Kuta’s side and beheld what he was creating. The two swords were now connected via a central section that would function as a grip on the bow, and a finely woven metallic cord stretched between the tips of the blades, forming the bowstring.

Runaan reached out to touch it. “What is it made of?”

Kuta slapped his fingers, and Runaan drew back, wary of Kuta’s sharp mood. “Special Earth magic weave. You wouldn’t understand.”

Runaan kept his voice mild. “You said you were going to run all your Earth magic additions past me first.”

Kuta’s voice was nowhere near mild. “You went to bed early.”

Runaan shifted to neutral. “You were working. And you know where I sleep.”

Kuta twitched, and his tool slipped. He cursed under his breath.

Runaan reached out and gently rested a hand on Kuta’s forge-sleeve. “You didn’t sleep again last night.”

Kuta looked at him with red-shot eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

Runaan took in the tinker’s waxy complexion, the dullness of his peridot-green briar markings. He was _not_ fine. “Why do you do this? What purpose does it serve?”

“Your purpose, Runaan! _Yours!_ You’re the one who’s going to dash off into the unknown and kill the people responsible for the attack that killed my father. I want you to do your duty. I want it so _badly_. And I want it to be over and done with. I want to forget this ever happened. I want to move on. Go back to making my silly, sparkly pretties for Siba’s bratty little grandkids and forget you ever existed.”

Hurt, Runaan lifted his hand away.

Kuta clapped a hand over his mouth. “No… no, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I’m just so _tired_.”

The assassin kept his voice soft and hid its tinge of regret. “I’m a distraction.”

“More than you know. No, I don’t… Yes, actually, I _do_ mean that.” Kuta let out a desperately tired sigh.

Runaan nodded and stood away from the work table. “I’ll be around. Find me when you’re done. And, Kuta.”

“What.” The Sun-blood did not look up.

“Thank you for the honey lemon water. It was good.”

Kuta’s shoulders slumped. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Runaan took a couple of oranges outside and sat on Kuta’s backyard rock to eat them. He planned to meditate again, on travel and mission plans, but he found himself staring up at the monolith behind the village. The Moon would indeed look amazing up there. He imagined standing atop the rock with his former Dragon Guard trainees, feeling the cold night wind in their hair, bathing their souls in the light of the full Moon, receiving its blessing before they strode forth to bring justice for the attack at winter’s turn. He could picture Rayla, strong, proud, determined. She would have made an excellent Dragon Guard someday. Maybe, just possibly, if the Dragon Queen was very generous and Runaan’s mission of justice went off without a hitch, she still could.

Runaan’s eyes lingered on the monolith. He wondered if there was time to climb up there before the full Moon rise tonight.

“You wanna see it?” Kuta’s voice interrupted his musings.

Runaan looked over. Kuta held out the completed bowblade. Runaan’s eyes widened in pleasure, and he immediately rose and accepted the weapon. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, taking in the curving lines, Moonshadow motifs, and pleasing symmetry Kuta had incorporated. He gripped the bow and pulled back on the string, feeling the tension strain as he drew it back to his lip. It was just tight enough, perfectly strung. “Amazing. How does it separate?”

“Like this.” Kuta’s hands grasped the sword handles, and he twisted _just so_ and pulled _just like that_. To Runaan’s surprise, the bowstring zipped into nothingness right before his eyes, leaving Kuta holding two swords, with no sign of the bow that had just been in Runaan’s hand.

“How does it work?”

Kuta reattached the sword handles with a twist and a click, and the bowstring re-formed, stretching from the tips of the swords almost faster than Runaan’s eyes could track. “It’s a complete circuit. Break the circuit, and the bowstring retracts. Complete it again, and it naturally connects.”

Runaan didn’t follow, but he was thrilled nonetheless. “So, Earth magic.”

Kuta dipped his horns tiredly, and Runaan was pleased to see a small smile touch the corner of the metalsmith’s mouth.

Runaan took the bowblade in his hand again, enjoying the sturdy, graceful weight of the elegant weapon. “I should practice with it.”

“I made some arrows for you last night, to break up the heavier work. The weave of that bowstring took a lot. I’ll get them for you.”

Kuta had absolutely been up all night, because not only had he crafted a couple dozen green-fletched arrows, but he’d made a quiver that matched the bowblade’s design. Runaan loved his attention to detail. The Moonshadow design was beautiful.

He helped Kuta set up an archery target made from a round slice of an old oak tree, and Runaan stood across the garden and familiarized himself with his new bow. It drew back with such smooth ease that he couldn’t help grinning every time he nocked an arrow and pulled the string to his lip. It felt so right, so perfect.

He shot all the arrows that Kuta had crafted, retrieved them, and shot them again. And again. And again.

“Runaan, stop posing so dramatically and come have lunch.”

Runaan paused and let the tension out of the bowstring. His arrow pointed toward the ground, but he looked skyward. To his surprise, the sun hung nearly overhead.

His stomach growled.

With extreme reluctance, he put his arrow back into the quiver, retrieved those in the target, and came inside. He felt alive and hopeful, with the light of the approaching full Moon in his eyes and the wind in his long, loose hair.

Kuta held up a platter. “I burned some food to death again. Want one?”

Runaan lifted a kebob and smiled. “These are good. Thank you.” He eased into one of Kuta’s chairs at the food table and propped his boot on the other, pushing it out for Kuta to join him. The tinker set the platter on the table as Runaan bit off the first hunk of saucy, scorched food: a cube of sweet potato.

But Kuta didn’t sit down. He rubbed his hands across his face, then ran them back through his hair below his horns and squeezed his red-tipped locks into his fists in the back.

Runaan looked up with concern. Kuta had been acting strange all day. Perhaps he should have insisted that the Sun-blood get a nap as soon as the bowblade was complete. “Kuta?”

“I thought you knew,” Kuta began, “but you have no idea, do you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a rough sigh.

Runaan tried to read his face and picked up only desperation. “No idea about what?”

Kuta’s hands danced in the air as he tried to explain. “At first, I thought, that’s just how you are. Then, I thought you were playing with me. And that was fine, because I liked it. I was playing with you, too.”

Runaan dropped his boot to the floor and leaned forward, eyes locked on the tinker’s. “Kuta. No idea about _what_?”

Kuta let out a whimpering laugh. “But you kept going. You kept pushing me. Yesterday, I thought maybe you were trying to get me to break first. Some kind of power play. And that upset me. Because that’s not right. Not with the mission you have. You shouldn’t, it isn’t… And then nothing made sense and I wasn’t sure I was reading your feelings right at all and I thought I was losing my mind. You were so serious, so dedicated, but you kept… I could barely _breathe_ around you… And the way you…” Kuta grabbed his horns and hung onto them, desperate and exhausted and rambling about something that Runaan still couldn’t understand.

Runaan’s brows lowered in true concern. “Kuta, I’m not following you. Can you slow down?”

The tinker’s hands flew out, begging Runaan to understand him. “Do you really, truly, _honestly_ have no idea how _beautiful_ you are?”

Runaan didn’t think his eyes had ever been wider in his life. “…What?”

“You’re the most beautiful elf I’ve ever laid eyes on. The Moon itself took your face in its hands and kissed you on the nose, and you sashay around my workshop with that glorious white hair, and those flashing blue eyes, and that, that… _physique_ , and you look me straight in the eye like I’m the most important person in the world, and you fight like you’ve never done anything else, and you never back down, and you bring me conflict-free frypods, and you rescue me from demon brats…” Kuta gazed down at him with a soft, helpless look. His hands found one another and clasped gently beneath his chin. “Runaan, how can you not know how beautiful you are to me?”

Runaan’s entire body shivered into a writhing ball of exploding tingles. He was having trouble breathing. Suddenly Kuta’s tension during their sparring session yesterday made all the sense. He stood slowly from his chair, unable to look away from Kuta’s burning amber gaze, and tried to remember how to get enough air into his chest.

Kuta’s face went pale. He took a step back and held out a warding hand. “Blazes, no, stop—stop that.”

Runaan’s ears were buzzing. “Stop what?” His voice had gotten hoarse somehow.

“You’re… _Runaaning_.”

Runaan dipped a horn and eyed Kuta with doubt. “I’m not sure what that is, but if that’s what you’re calling it, I’m not sure it’s possible for me to stop.”

Kuta’s throat made a strangled whimpering noise. “Okay, but just, _please_ , don’t kill me for this—”

For all his swift reflexes, Runaan didn’t have time to react before Kuta’s hands claimed his face, just as they had in his vision. His lips crashed against Runaan’s with silken heat. The Sun-blood propelled him backward until his shoulders thudded against the wall so hard that nearby tools rattled on their hooks. The tinker whimpered against Runaan’s mouth, and Runaan groaned in response.

His hands flew to Kuta’s shoulders, to his cheeks, thumbing Kuta’s lower lip even as they kissed. Every nerve in his body was afire and singing. He’d never felt such a powerful need in his life. Never felt such an intense connection with another elf. The raw power behind his desire came out of nowhere and left him stunned and dazzled. And a little terrified.

They kissed, hard and needy, until Kuta, shuddering and sated, pulled back and opened his eyes. His chest heaved, and his eyes clung to Runaan’s. One finger gently traced the lower edge of Runaan’s markings, from his nose to beneath his eye. Kuta’s voice was a husky whisper. “Yes? No?”

Runaan couldn’t remember how to speak, could barely remember his name. He spun in a wide, white whirlwind full of flickers and too much sensation, and none of it made sense. All he could manage was a breathless stare into Kuta’s glorious eyes.

“Runaan? Runaan. I can’t have gotten your feelings wrong, have I? I never get anyone’s feelings wrong. Please, say something.”

Runaan felt his lips move, trying to form a word. He had no idea what it would be.

Kuta’s amber eyes widened. His brows bent. “Oh, blazes. I have gotten it wrong, haven’t I? I have. Sun have mercy. I just made all this up in my head.” Kuta abruptly yanked himself away from the wall and backed up a couple of steps. His hand covered his mouth in shock. “I… I… oh no, _no_.” He backed up even further, and then he turned and rushed out to the back garden, a hand on his forehead.

Runaan managed a gasping breath. He gulped air, swallowed, and fumbled toward the nearby chair he’d so innocently occupied three minutes ago. His shaking hand found it and dragged it over, and he collapsed onto it and leaned an elbow onto the table top. His forehead fell into his palm, and he closed his eyes. Several shuddering breaths later, his thumb gently brushed against the curve of his lower lip, and he replayed Kuta’s intense passion against his eyelids.

His stomach simply would not settle, insisting on flipping repeatedly just below his heart. He pressed a hand against it, but it did no good. A wild tinker had climbed inside him and was hammering like a mad thing. The ground, his chair, felt surreal and irrelevant. He was floating.

_I think I’ve just decided._

The thought spread across the chaos of his mind like a strong, pure beam of moonlight.

And then,

_Kuta_.

Runaan arched out of his chair and found him in the corner of his walled garden, hugging a sturdy yew tree. His back was to Runaan, but the Moonshadow was certain that the Earth told Kuta he was behind him.

“You didn’t get it wrong, Kuta.”

Kuta’s head lifted from the branch where he’d been resting his forehead, but he didn’t turn around.

Runaan continued, “You surprised me. Caught me completely off guard. That’s not… I don’t get surprised.”

“Are you angry with me, then?” Kuta asked over his shoulder.

“No. I’m not angry.” _Many, many things, but not angry._

Kuta shifted around the tree, still hugging it, until he could see Runaan. “Tell me how you feel, then. I’m such a mess, I don’t trust myself to read you.”

Runaan placed a hand over his heart. “If you could feel my heartbeat right now, you’d think I had been struck by lightning. I can’t catch my breath. I think I’m hearing colors.”

Kuta’s voice was small. “I can’t tell if those are good things.”

Runaan’s horns dipped to the side. “To be honest with you, Kuta, neither can I.” He stepped halfway to the tree, leaving a couple of paces between them. “I’ve never felt like that before. Like this. I don’t even know what it means. I’m a warrior. A guardian. I’ve never been in love. I don’t know if…” Runaan trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant and not enjoying it.

“If what? Say it.”

Runaan steadied himself. “I don’t know if I want this. I’m definitely not ready for it.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I don’t want to force you.”

“I—” Runaan couldn’t say yet whether he had enjoyed being forced. And he couldn’t say whether he hadn’t. “I just need time.”

“Time for what?”

“To listen to myself. I still have a mission.”

Chirping birds broke the silence that stretched between them.

“There’s only so much time, Runaan.”

Runaan stepped the rest of the way to the tree and gently held out his hand. “Then I won’t waste it.”

Kuta took his hand and let Runaan lead him out from around the tree. He stood before the Moonshadow and gazed up into his turquoise eyes.

The buzzing in Runaan’s ears was beginning to quiet. The Earth began to right itself, and the Moon pulled him back on course. Overhead, the Sun kissed them both. “You need to sleep, Sun-blood. You’ve been working yourself too hard, and I’ve been letting you.”

“I’ll be—”

Runaan pressed a finger to Kuta’s lips. “You _need_. To _sleep_.” He took the tinker by the hand and led him inside.

Down the dark hallway, into the dim bedroom with the sand bed and the honeyed lemon water, Runaan led the exhausted tinker by the hand. He sat the Sun-blood on the edge of the round bed frame, knelt before him, and pulled off his boot. Kuta showed him how to trigger the prosthetic to detach, and Runaan set it next to the boot.

Wordlessly, he drew Kuta’s bright red scarf from his neck again, draping it over the table top. He untied the tinker’s forge-sleeves and set them atop the scarf. Then he poured him a glass of water and handed it to him, and Kuta obediently drank.

Runaan lifted up the top cover, and Kuta eased down into the sand bed, wriggling down into the middle of the round frame until he was comfortable. Runaan tucked him in, settling the sheets  over his shoulders.

The red runes along the frame of the bed lit, and the sand began to warm. Kuta held out a dark hand in the dimness and lit it up with a gleaming orange light. “Will you stay with me?”

The smell of Sun-warmed Earth filled the room. Runaan reached for his Moon arcanum and found it full and pulsing. The room seemed to stretch out like a web of the heavens to hold so many arcana at once.

Whatever this was, Runaan wanted to be a part of it. “I will stay.” He sat atop the edge of the sheets, tucked his legs under him, and took Kuta’s glowing hand in his. Though the tinker’s skin radiated an orange light, his hand was cool to the touch. Runaan ran a thumb across Kuta’s glow. _Like touching the Harvest Moon._

As Runaan closed his eyes to try and meditate his way through the last, crazy ten minutes of his life, Kuta’s sleepy voice reached his ears. “Wake me at sunset?”

“Why sunset?” Runaan murmured.

“Because I want to see you in the moonlight. You promised.”

Runaan had done no such thing, but he smiled in the dark. “I’ll wake you. Now go to sleep.”

“Thank you. My shade.”

Runaan stilled. Kuta couldn’t possibly know what that term meant to Moonshadows. But it was starting to mean something very precious to Runaan.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While General Amaya offers Janai surprising aid in a time of need, Kuta finds something within himself he didn't know he could do, and Runaan's Moon comes full circle, linking back to the beginning [that's a chapter 1 reference y'all].
> 
> Also: Viren vs Opeli, and a bit of Aaravos that's both teasing and terrifying. Par for the course.

“I know what you did, Viren. All those years ago. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Viren shifted on his cot and offered the blond councilwoman a false smile through the large barred inset in his cell door. “You wouldn’t say boo to me, Opeli, until after King Harrow was killed. _Now_ you’re making a power play. _Now_ you come and taunt me, when you’re certain I can’t retaliate. Which of us is the villain, here?”

Opeli’s blue eyes sagged shut for a long moment, and she rubbed them with a thumb and finger as she sighed. “Just because I stripped you of your power does not mean I want to keep it for _myself_. That’s your tactic. Not mine.”

Viren’s head snapped up defensively and his gray eyes blazed. “I serve the throne of Katolis!”

“You nearly got your greedy fingers _on_ the throne of Katolis!” Opeli countered.

“I had no way of knowing that the little elf assassin girl wouldn’t kill the princes!”

“You hoped she _would_.” Opeli cut Viren off with a sharp gesture. “Just confess your crimes, Viren, and the council will have mercy on you. King Ezran has said so. And I don’t need to remind you that the fate of your children lies in your hands, do I? They’ll remain locked up until you confess. Are you even capable of sparing a thought for their situation? For their needs?”

Viren surged to his feet and limped across the stone floor until he stared down into Opeli’s eyes. “Threatening me with my children’s fate? _Very_ magnanimous of you. How goes the brainwashing? Have they sworn their undying loyalty to the little king yet?”

Opeli let out a frustrated grunt. Her bloodshot eyes landed on Viren’s angry features, and she belatedly realized what had literally been staring her in the face all along. “Your face… You’ve done something. You’re still using magic. I’ll tell the guards to toss your cell.”

Suddenly suffering from a strange feeling of protectiveness toward Aaravos’s infuriating butterfly, Viren bunched his fists. “I’m a mage, Opeli. I do possess a little dark magic in my blood.”

Opeli’s lip curled. “That’s disgusting.”

Viren’s eyes slitted. “If you prefer, I could easily possess a little dark magic in your blood instead.”

The councilwoman’s blue eyes went wide with revulsion. “You’re hopelessly foul, Viren! I hope you rot for what you’ve done.” She whirled in a swirl of pale robes and blond hair and stalked away.

Viren stared after her with hard eyes, not quite regretting his morbid joke. Claudia would’ve found it funny. Under his breath, he murmured, “You first.”

 

***

 

Kuta tried not to look directly at the sunleeches in the darkness of the cave, but what little night vision he had was swiftly ruined by the soft glow of the little creatures in their protective jar. Amaya set the jar next to her knee as she knelt over Janai. The powerful Sunfire knight lay stretched in the sand in her white leggings and sleeveless scarlet tunic, just out of Kuta’s reach. Not that he would attempt to reach her. He’d given Bavar his word not to lift a finger, exactly as the Corona had ordered. Which meant he had to trust this human general not to kill Janai. Or to simply let her die.

So far, though, Amaya was proving surprisingly amenable to caring for Janai. She’d been gentle as she unlaced Janai’s golden shoulder pauldrons and bandaged up the wounds the metal thorns had left in her skin—especially that deep one in her shoulder. She’d set Janai’s sunforge sword carefully against the cave wall and taken care as she carried Janai over to Kuta from where the Earthtouch mercenaries had set her down. She even made sure that Janai’s thick braids cushioned her head against the cold sand.

Amaya used the wooden tongs to fetch out a sunleech as Kuta directed her, and she held the radiant, wriggling creature until it found a latch on Janai’s skin, right near the shoulder wound the gravethorn oil had poisoned. As the sunleech began to pull the toxic blood from the Sunfire’s body, its own body slowly swelled and its skin began to glow like a tiny sun. Kuta winced and looked away, but Amaya stared at it in a combination of horror and wonder.

Kuta looked back through one squinted eye and waggled his extended fingers to get Amaya’s attention. “Three more sunleeches.” It was just a guess, based on how many sunleeches it had taken for Kuta’s arm to feel better. Janai wasn’t as bad off as he had been a few days ago. Not yet, anyway.

Before Amaya could pull another creature from the water in the jar, Janai began to writhe slowly in the sand. She turned her head toward Kuta and closed her eyes as if trying not to see something right above her. “ _Nngh_ , no…” she muttered.

Kuta nearly yanked his good hand from the sand to reach for her. To his surprise, Amaya held out a warding hand to him before placing her hands on Janai’s shoulder in a comforting but firm grip.

“Please… stop…” Janai’s voice rippled with powerful emotions Kuta had never heard in the Sunfire knight’s low, sturdy voice before. His eyes widened.

_What’s this?_ Amaya signed.

Kuta pursed his lips before answering. “Gravethorn oil brings hallucinations so powerful they distract even the most focused warriors.” He dipped his horns to indicate Janai. “You don’t need to kill someone if you paint it on your blade or your arrowhead. A nick will do the trick. They’ll kill themselves, if they don’t die out of sheer terror.”

The look of revulsion on Amaya’s face was more than enough to indicate her opinion on the matter, but Kuta tucked away the memory of the sign she threw at him anyway.

Janai’s sudden cry filled the long, low cave with the ring of childlike fear. Amaya’s expression softened immediately, and her brows drew together as she searched Janai’s face, urgently seeking to understand.

Kuta’s swollen arm throbbed hard, and his good fingers dug into the sand between his knees. When Amaya looked up at him next, he dipped his horns toward the glass jar. “Three more sunleeches. Hurry.”

Amaya deftly applied the little critters to Janai’s arm and shoulder, all while holding her squirming form in place. Once all four sunleeches blazed in the dimness of the cave—a sunny, organic campfire between her and Kuta—she looked at him, her chin lit with their upglow, and broadly gestured for him to explain further.

Kuta took a breath to steady his nerves. Janai’s emotions were building to a powerful degree. _There’s a reason Sunfires burn their emotions as fuel. We have too many._ “The sunleeches work best on pure Sunfires, like Janai. They’ll draw the toxins from her blood so she doesn’t get the full effect of the gravethorn.”

Amaya signed something and dropped a doubtful glance to Janai before meeting Kuta’s eyes again.

He took an educated guess as to her meaning. “I don’t know what a partial dose will do to her. We have more sunleeches if she needs them. I don’t want to bleed her dry, though.” _I don’t want to be left entirely defenseless against you_. “If it gets bad, though, you’ll have to hold her down. I expect you can manage that.” Kuta eyed Amaya’s muscular arms.

The general merely flicked an eyebrow at him.

Janai jerked hard under Amaya’s left hand, and her heavy horn guard came a hairsbreadth from gashing Amaya’s arm. The human jerked back, then shifted to press a knee atop Janai’s good shoulder, pinning her writhing body hard into the sand.

“Hey—!” Kuta began, but Amaya’s fingers were already feeling their way through Janai’s thick braids. She found the clasps that released the horn guard from her hair.

With deft fingers, Amaya pulled it free of Janai’s horns and tossed it out of reach. Then she eased her knee back off and lay a firm hand atop Janai’s exposed forehead, stilling her movements.

Janai’s eyes fluttered and opened, but she didn’t seem to see Amaya, nor Kuta. “Please don’t, please don’t…” Her voice trembled and trailed away into nothing.

Amaya pressed a hand against her own chest for a moment, and Kuta felt a spike of something emanating from her. Something that wasn’t hard or angry. It flickered and was gone before he could identify it.

Then Janai’s eyes flew wide open, and she cried out even louder than before. Her body arched off the sand as her voice raised to a desperate scream. Kuta had only felt that desperately helpless once before, and he’d made a terrible decision because of it. But Janai’s terror ricocheted off his Earth arcanum like a hurricane—just as Runaan’s resignation to the possibility of death had done—and Kuta shivered in the gale of her emotions, crying out as it washed through him, forcing its way into all the cracks that losing Runaan had created.

Amaya leaned hard onto Janai’s shoulders, holding her down so she didn’t knock the sunleeches loose, but Janai writhed hard in the grip of whatever disaster she was seeing.

The Sunfire’s expression collapsed into agonized tears. “Father, _please_! Please, don’t!” A begging wail lasted the length of what breath she held, and then it died.

Kuta’s gut turned to ice.  _Not seeing. Reliving._

Hastily, he dredged up some mental defenses to protect himself from the onslaught of Janai’s emotions. Even if she pulled through, her feelings would be hammering at him for hours. _That’s a lot of forge work, and I’ll have nothing but sweat and tears to show for it._

Amaya’s expression told Kuta that she wasn’t happy with the current situation, either. She gestured quickly for him to hold Janai down so Amaya could shift to a new position.

“I can’t, I gave my word—” Kuta began.

With a fierce frown, Amaya reached across Janai, grabbed Kuta’s good hand, and shoved it hard against the sun symbol on Janai’s belt buckle, pushing until Janai lay pressed against the sand. Then the general signed, simply enough for Kuta to follow.

_Don’t lift a finger._

As Amaya shifted around toward Janai’s head, Kuta felt a tense smile of admiration cross his lips. Janai bucked, legs kicking, and Kuta leaned his weight onto her center, gently pinning her down so she didn’t hurt anyone—herself included.

Amaya picked up Janai’s shoulders and settled herself behind the Sunfire, holding Janai against her chest. But Janai kept flailing, and Amaya had to be wary of her horns, which swiped near Amaya’s eyes. She looked around and spotted Kuta’s yellow coat, then tugged on his sleeve with two fingers and gestured for him to hand it over.

Kuta let his hand slip back down to the sand as Amaya pulled his coat sleeve off for him. With a smooth pivot on his knees, he let her take it. She swiftly wrapped it around Janai. With the yellow coat securing the Sunfire knight from the worst of her tremors and trapping her injured arm against her side, Amaya wrapped both arms around Janai and held on tight.

Then things got worse.

Janai struggled as if to free herself from Amaya’s grip and run to save her father from the dark magic snake bridge he’d perished on. She wept like a child, begging and pleading, bringing Kuta to tears as well. Amaya kept shooting him worried looks.

Between his bound and swollen arm and his oath, Kuta could neither help nor hide, nor even block out the sounds of Janai’s emotional agony. He could only sit by her side as she gasped and struggled her way through the effects of the gravethorn. Though he was grateful beyond belief for Amaya’s willingness to help, the sheer intensity of Janai’s emotions left his stomach in a throbbing knot. He closed his eyes and hunkered down next to his friend, desperate for just a moment in which to catch his breath. _Just one easy breath._

During the initial conflict with the Earthtouch mercenaries, he’d flung his soul wide, crying out to the universe, afraid he’d die before he found his beloved Moonshadow. Now, Kuta threw his soul down the same trail he’d blazed across the void, drowning out his Earth arcanum’s tremors with the burning roar of his Sun arcanum.

_Runaan_.

For an endless, breathless time, Kuta felt like he was shouting against the emptiness of the heavens, running from Janai’s cries, seeking a soul that didn’t exist. And then, a blackness darker than the rest of the void sucked at his attention. Except no. The _blackness_ wasn’t what called to him. It was something bright and precious _within_ it.

Kuta pressed hard against the dark barrier, seeking only that distant light which he could feel but not see. The blackness hurt, but he dragged himself through it, finding on the other side only more darkness. A strange vastness distorted his already weak perception of distance within the dark sphere, and he spun, his stomach still reeling from Janai’s emotional onslaught. He tumbled, falling off balance, but he managed to stop himself in a particularly dark corner of nothingness, where black walls seemed to hem him in in a strange, comforting way.

A pale glow caught his eye off to the side. Kuta gathered a sense of self—a body, of sorts, for this place—and eased closer, hoping against hope. His heart fluttered in his chest.

_Have I found you, my shade? Have I found you at last?_

A figure crouched ahead, its long white hair softly aglow in the utter blackness, braced on hands and knees as if under intense duress.

Kuta’s heart leapt with pure joy. It _was_ Runaan. At long last, his beloved.

And he was in pain.

Runaan hunkered down, stripped to the waist. His eyes were pressed shut. His side tails hung loose. His mouth gasped as if struggling for air. One of his horns was _broken_.

Kuta clapped his hands over his mouth, even though he wasn’t sure he could make sound in this strange realm. The brief flash of joy as he realized his own left arm was fully functional in this strange place was quickly overshadowed by heavy worry, though. He moved toward Runaan without thinking, hands outstretched, desperate to reassure himself that his beloved Moonshadow was really there.

Then he hesitated. _Is he, though? Is he really here? Wherever “here” is?_ He shook his head. _It doesn’t matter_. Kuta rested a hand on Runaan’s shoulder and murmured his name.

But Runaan kept struggling to breathe, seemingly incapable of noticing that Kuta was there. Nothing Kuta tried could reach him, and that pain stabbed more deeply than anything.

“Runaan, please!” Kuta begged. “I’m right here. I’ve found you. Please, see me!”

Runaan’s ragged heaving was the only response Kuta got.

Horrified, Kuta lifted his hand free and backed away, floating out of reach and covering his mouth again, this time in helpless despair. “Runaan…”

Tangled in aching distress, Kuta’s soul fled. Of all the things he’d expected, of all the things he’d braced for, finding Runaan alone and unreachable in a strange black void had not been one of them. He launched his consciousness back into his body, and his eyes rocketed open as he gasped deeply.

The cave slammed back into existence around him. Cold sand chilled his good hand, and the light of the sunleeches drawing the toxin from Janai’s blood flared in the dimness. Janai threw up into the sand a moment later. Amaya deftly buried it as if she’d done so a hundred times before. Then, unprompted, she set about swapping the full sunleeches for fresh new ones.

Kuta gasped for breath, much as Runaan had been doing, and scrambled for any sort of explanation for what he’d just seen. He shoved aside such trite questions as _What’s going on?_ and _Why is this possible?_ and focused on the one thing that mattered to him: how to reach Runaan.

_It’s not about what I need. It’s about what he needs. What does he need, in order to be able to hear me?_ Kuta’s breath hissed between his teeth as he braced against fresh waves of Janai’s emotions. In the midst of Janai’s emotional eddies, he could barely think. His empathy splattered all over the cave, picking up quiet echoes from the human general. Something radiated from her. It felt old and dedicated, though. Not sinister. Not evil.

Despite himself, deep down in his Earth arcanum, Kuta began to trust Amaya. And he wasn’t even sure why. Within the hour, Janai’s fits passed, and she lay limp and sweaty in Amaya’s arms, gasping for breath and murmuring to herself—or to her father, perhaps. Kuta wasn’t sure. He felt like a limp dishrag, all wrung out—and nearly ready to vomit, too.

The human looked like she could take on all six of the Earthtouches single handedly. Except that, for once, the expression she wore wasn’t a martial one. She looked… soft.

Runaan looked soft when he slept, especially in the gentle light of dawn. It softened all his hard edges and brought out the beauty in his soul. Kuta took a moment to revel in a particular morning memory atop the monolith, and the warmth that flooded him pushed back the strain of Janai’s emotions. He hadn’t thought that a human general could look soft in the light of a handful of sunleeches, but in that moment, Amaya did look soft.

She looked soft toward Janai.

Amaya caught him staring. With one hand, she signed, _What?_

In reply, Kuta simply dropped his eyes to Janai for a long moment, then met Amaya’s dark gaze again with raised eyebrows and a small smile.

Amaya’s brows redressed the balance by lowering. She snugged Janai more closely against her, and the Sunfire’s head lolled back against Amaya’s shoulder. Amaya studied her face for a long moment. When she turned to Kuta again, she let her emotions open up and gestured briefly toward Kuta, an offering to be read.

Kuta felt an old fear rise from the depths of Amaya’s past: fear for her sister’s life. The Queen of Katolis—before she had been queen, or even fully grown—had fallen deathly ill. Amaya had been terrified that she’d die. She’d done all the caregiving her sister needed, since their own mother was dead and their father was away on business. The servants offered to help, but Amaya shooed them away and nearly exhausted herself tending to her sister’s every need. Amaya had done whatever it took to save Sarai’s life.

The Queen of Katolis had died nearly ten years ago, though, and Amaya hadn’t been there for her in her final moments, hadn’t been at her side, to help her fight, to help her survive. Not even to hold her hand as her last breath left her body. After fighting so hard to save her once, after getting injured and separated from her sister during that final battle, Amaya had lived the past ten years with unutterable guilt for not being able to save her life a second time. That guilt had driven her to save Janai in Sarai’s place.

Amaya’s hand finally rose and managed some signs that Kuta parsed along with her emotions. _Maybe Janai has a sister who can’t be here to save her_. _So I did it for her._

Kuta felt his eyes well up. His emotional walls had taken a beating, and this unexpected softness sneaked in from the side, where he had no defense. He could only nod in response. Deep in his heart, though, he found himself wishing to the Sun and the Moon alike that someone would be there to save Runaan in case Kuta couldn’t make it to Katolis Castle alive. That someone—a human, _anyone_ —would have such compassion on his beloved as this purported enemy had just shown for her longtime rival.

 Janai murmured for her father again, though it was clear she was slipping into an exhausted sleep. The sunleeches had done their job. The gravethorn would not kill her. And Kuta hadn’t technically lifted a finger to help.

Amaya tossed a glance at Janai, then shot an inquiring glance at Kuta.

Some of his goodwill fled, but he was hesitant to crush the peaceful mood in the cave after so much time feeling Janai’s sorrow wash over him. “Her father died. On Winter’s Turn.”

Amaya hesitated a long time, pulling her emotions away from Kuta. He let her have them and didn’t chase them down. But after several moments, Amaya signed a reply and backed it with her feelings. _He must have been very brave._

Kuta’s eyes dropped to Janai, wrapped in his yellow coat. “He sacrificed himself to destroy a snake bridge. He acted to save the lives of his troops. Janai… saw him from a distance. Her honor made her stand and watch.”

Amaya’s eyes widened and flicked to Janai’s face again.

“Did you fight that day?” Kuta asked mildly. _Because of course you did. Maybe Janai killed some of your men._

But to his surprise, Amaya shook her head. She signed slowly, emphatically, holding her hands out in front of Janai’s chest. _We are the Standing Battalion. We_ stand _. We guarded the retreat of the other forces. The king ordered me to remain behind._

“An interesting choice.”

Amaya’s lips quirked into a wry smile that faded quickly, and her hands signed again. _The human army flew my sister’s colors. If I took the field, I would have died on it._

Kuta’s arm twinged hard, and a cold knot formed in his gut. “I _am_ taking the field. And I’ll die here if I have to.”

Amaya considered him for a long moment. _And whose colors do you fly?_

For the first time since they’d entered the cave, Kuta lifted his hand, certain now that Janai would live. He let his moon opal necklace rest against his palm and held it out for her to see. “My Moonshadow.”

The general’s expression became wry. _You invade Katolis for love?_

Kuta’s face tightened, and his heart pressed back against Amaya’s disbelief. “I’m not here to kill anyone. I’m here to _save_ someone. You’re doing the same thing for your nephew.”

Amaya thought on that for a long moment. Then she slipped out from behind Janai and folded Kuta’s coat into a pillow for her, laying her down gently. She stood and withdrew to the far wall, where Janai’s sunforge sword lay in its bespelled sheath. She picked it up and headed for the cave entrance, but paused after a few steps.

_We’ll lose the next day while she recovers. You’re tired, too. Sleep. I’ll take first watch._

Kuta watched in amazement as General Amaya of the Standing Battalion settled herself in the center of the cave entrance with Janai’s sheathed sword across her knees, prepare to guard the two elves who had kidnapped her.

_Sun have mercy. I like her._

Janai breathed easy, though she lay in an exhausted, sweaty sleep. Kuta checked her over and found her as whole as could be, reassuring himself that she was truly on the mend. Once he felt the strength of her pulse beneath his fingers, he sat back with a tired sigh.

Amaya had given Janai what she needed to pull herself back into the world of the living. She’d done it for her sister years ago, and she’d chosen to do it for an enemy in distress tonight. She hadn’t chased after Janai. She’d simply been there. Supportive, in whatever way Janai could perceive her presence.

_That’s what I need. I can’t push into Runaan’s awareness. I need to let him find me._

Kuta took a few more deep breaths before hurling himself back into that wide void. He found the strange blackness more quickly this time, though it still hurt to move through it, as if it sucked at his life force as payment for passage.

He hovered just inside the painful barrier and composed himself, seeking the faint white glow of Runaan’s hair. Seeking equilibrium within himself.

_Balance. I need balance. Earth and Sun_. In the dark distance, Kuta felt the pull of Runaan’s soul. _And now, the Moon. A syzygy_.

Kuta drifted closer, keeping his own emotions tightly controlled. Runaan was loose, wild, hurt. He still crouched in pain, seemingly unaware of Kuta’s approach, or of anything other than his own suffering. Runaan needed order. He needed rules. Kuta would have to be those things for him.

The tinker opened his soul wide and let his love for Runaan radiate out like a soft light, pressing back the darkness with the twin hues of his two arcana. He had no idea how Runaan would perceive him, or how long it would take for him to even notice his presence.

_Let me be your light, Runaan. I will stay with you._

He eased around into Runaan’s line of sight. Nothing mattered now except Runaan. Kuta would wait as long as it took.

At some point during the night, Runaan’s breathing eased just a bit, and his head turned toward Kuta ever so slightly. That intense Moonshadow focus, though strained and weak, brushed against him for the first time in weeks.

Kuta’s heart soared. And then he spoke softly into the blackness.

_“Tell me a story, my shade. Tell me the story of how we met.”_

 

***

_“Where is the creature with the voice of lightning?”_

But the dozy, mustached guard did not know.

_“Where is the creature with the voice of lightning?”_

But the old cook who smelled of jelly tarts did not know.

_“Where is the creature with the voice of lightning?”_

But the Crow Master did not know.

_Someone_ in Katolis Castle knew the answer to this most burning of questions. This insistent image that dazzled Aaravos’s eyes and danced across his memories—his _future_ —

Aaravos would find his answer. He _needed_ to find it.

And he would. Aaravos had lifetimes of experience with patience. Neither time nor death concerned him. He was in the right place, and now was the right time. And it would remain _now_ until he had located his answer. His butterfly would land on every sleepy ear in the entire fortress, one by one, night after night, until he found what he sought.

And when he did…

In the shadows of the library, with his back to the window, eyes locked on that glimmering magical plane that separated him from the humans’ world, Aaravos smirked.

His butterfly landed once again, on the ear of a twenty-year-old tracker with ink stains on his fingers.

_“Tell me, Crow Lord. Where is the creature with the voice of lightning?”_


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full Moon arrives, and it's intense.

Runaan leaned forward and whispered in Kuta’s ear. “The Moon is rising.”

Kuta hummed and turned his head a smidge.

“Kuta.”

The Sun-blood snuggled down into the warm sand with a soft mumble of protest. Runaan rested his free hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

“Kuta. You said to wake you.”

Kuta squeezed Runaan’s hand. He’d fallen asleep holding it, and Runaan hadn’t dared to move for the past five hours. “Mmm. Wake me, then.”

“I _am_ trying to wake you, Sun-blood. You’re proving a difficult mission.”

Kuta curled onto his side, facing Runaan, his eyes still closed. “Mmmph. Try harder then.”

The Moon arcanum was fairly singing in Runaan’s soul. He could do any number of things to wake Kuta up. But one idea stood out. He leaned over Kuta’s ear. “Can I show you something?”

Kuta wriggled cozily into the warm sand beneath his sheet. “Mm-hmm, but don’t expect—”

Runaan pressed one hand over Kuta’s eyes and embraced his arcanum. He filled Kuta’s vision with an illusory replay of their kiss—from Runaan’s perspective.

Kuta shot up in the bed, flailing and gasping. “ _H-How_ did you do that? Runaan! Sun have mercy and spare my soul from the blazing heat!” He pressed a hand to his heaving chest and shot Runaan a wide-eyed look.

Runaan kept a straight face. “Ah, good, you’re awake now.”

Kuta shot him a mock glower, clearly still trying to catch his breath. “ _Hnngh_. Is there any water left?”

With a small smile, Runaan poured a glass of honeyed water and handed it over.

Kuta drained the whole thing. “You could have told me what you were going to do ahead of time.”

Runaan’s eyes glowed in the darkened room. “ _You_ went to bed early.”

Kuta slitted his eyes. “You put me here, remember? I’m not sure yet whether I like you quoting me to me. But I like that it means you were listening.”

Runaan’s voice was soft and low. “I always listen to you.”

Kuta’s eyes slitted further. “No. you always _hear_ me. You don’t always listen. Remember when I tried to warn you about going outside? Or when you took my comment about fighting with one hand tied behind my back way too literally?”

Runaan ignored Kuta’s attempt to goad him. Clearly, the Sun-blood had the situation entirely backwards. “If you wanted me to wake you some other way, you should have been specific.”

“Sun save me from the stubbornness of Moonshadows.” His tawny eyes found Runaan. “This one in particular.”

Runaan’s grin gleamed in the dark. “And even then, I may still have ignored you.”

Kuta read Runaan’s detached amusement, and he sighed. “Do you mean to tell me that you won’t show me your full Moonshadow form tonight?”

Runaan tipped his horns in the dimness. “I am not a dancing bearmonkey.”

Kuta’s shoulders slumped with a rustling of sheets. “No, you’re right. I just got excited. Not too many Moonshadows out this way. I thought maybe…”

Runaan didn’t want to encourage him, but he was curious. “You thought maybe what?”

“Maybe I could find some equivalent of Sun magic in Moon magic, something that could be adapted for a technological use—”

“We have other tasks to attend to,” Runaan interrupted.

“—Like my leg,” Kuta finished. “There are plants that respond to moonlight. The principle is the same. Do you glow under the Moon’s light?”

Runaan flicked an eyebrow in mild exasperation and looked toward the bedroom door. “I can see you’re not going to let this go.”

He reached over the edge of the bed frame and picked up Kuta’s prosthetic leg just as Kuta asked, “Can you hand me my—oh. Thank you.”

The pair entered the back garden together, and Kuta shivered, snugging his scarf closer around his neck. Moonlight poured from the eastern horizon, striking Runaan full in the face. He closed his eyes in bliss and tilted back his head, soaking up its glorious pale radiance. “Ahh…”

He heard Kuta step out beside him and stop. The moonlight bounced off of the tinker, shaping his presence in Runaan’s mind without the need to open his eyes. He was studying Runaan with his hands pressed to his lips.

“Does it feel good, the Moonlight?” Kuta asked in a hesitant voice.

“The light lets me see you.” Runaan opened his eyes and looked over.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting,” Runaan replied with a quick smile. “Would you tell me all the secrets of either of your arcana simply because I asked it of you?”

“Probably.”

Runaan sighed and stepped close. “You trust too easily, Kuta.”

Kuta set his jaw. “You don’t trust easily enough.”

“It is my nature not to trust.” Runaan’s murmuring tone softened the edge of his words.

Kuta offered the assassin a pretty pout. “And it’s in mine to reach out.”

Runaan trailed his fingers up along the outside of Kuta’s arm, causing the Sun-blood to shiver in delight. “You did reach out.” His hand rose to cup Kuta’s cheek, and his callused thumb brushed along the tinker’s bottom lip. “You kissed me.”

Kuta held his breath, eyes wide, lost in the swirling intensity of Runaan’s turquoise eyes. But Runaan wasn’t offering a repeat of their earlier kiss. He was merely stating a truth. Kuta’s brows twitched together, and he sighed in disappointment. “And is this the part where I realize that you still don’t trust me?”

Runaan kept his eyes on Kuta’s. “I would like to trust you. Very much. But trust is only given when it is earned, and such a feat is doubly hard for Moonshadows.”

Kuta blinked three times in quick succession and looked down. His chest filled with another deep breath, and he let it out as evenly as he could. He was quiet for a long moment in the moonlight. “I made your bowblade. Is it to your satisfaction?”

Runaan answered easily. “It is.”

“You trust my handicraft to keep you safe in battle?”

The way Runaan tipped his horns and raised an eyebrow told Kuta that the assassin could sense where he was taking the conversation. “I do.”

“So you already trust me with your life.”

Runaan met Kuta’s eyes earnestly. “To some degree, I do, yes.”

Kuta spluttered and threw his hands in the air. “ _Some_ degree? Some _degree?_ Runaan, I could have put a—I could have damaged—you’d never even know until it—” The tinker dragged his fingers across his face, smoothing away his high level of exasperation. “No, you know what? Let’s be rational about this. Excuse me for just a second. I’m going to switch arcana.” He promptly folded his arms and shut his eyes with a small pout of concentration.

Runaan blinked. “You can do that?”

Kuta opened one eye and offered a sharp glare. “No, you cinder. There’s no internal switch I can just flip. I’m just trying to think like a Sunfire for a second.”

Runaan felt his cheeks heat and was grateful for the blinding moonlight that hid it from Kuta’s notice. “I see.”

Kuta’s eyes slitted. “See how nice it is when someone generously tells you something you never knew before? It’s so freeing.” Sarcasm dripped from the end of Kuta’s sentence. Then he uncrossed his arms and opened his eyes, looking up at Runaan. “All right. So you _will_ trust me once I earn it.”

Runaan pressed a hand to his heart. “I would like nothing more. My heart has already decided. But I must wait for it to convince my head.”

Kuta smiled in spite of his attempt to remain focused. “So what must I do to earn your trust? I’ve already offered to outfit everyone in your cohort. Will that suffice?”

“We still need a way to connect you with them. Solve that, and I will be impressed. And grateful.”

Kuta’s face slipped into a thoughtful scowl that drew his pale red brows together. The moonlight kissed the green markings on his shoulder and cheek, stealing their gold and leaving them darker, sharper. He started snapping his fingers, one after the other. “Wait. Wait. It’s coming to me. Yes!” He jabbed an excited finger at Runaan. “Show me your friends.”

Runaan’s horns dipped to the side. “What do you mean?”

“With your hand on my eyes. Can you do that? Give me a vision of them?”

Runaan’s expression cleared. “Yes, I can do that. What do you need to see?”

“Height, flexibility, preferred weapon types, if they have a dominant hand… Everything about how they fight.”

Runaan’s brows shot up. “That could take a while.”

Kuta gestured to the Moon. “We have all night. I just need a notebook to write things down.” He started to hurry back inside, but stopped short. “Is it easier—will your visions be _clearer_ , if we’re outside?”

Runaan nodded. “Everything’s easier in the Moonlight.”

Kuta’s grin was nearly incandescent. “I need a coat, then. Summer elf.”

While Kuta dashed back inside, Runaan lifted his eyes to the Moon. “Is this what you intended for me?” he murmured. “Is this my course?” He raised a finger and delicately traced the blue shadows across his nose. “You’ve both kissed me today.” He shook his head at the wild improbability of his passionate encounter with the Sun-blood. _Never in a thousand years_ … But he stopped short. Many things had not been believed possible in a thousand years, yet had recently come to pass. That was why Runaan was here, after all.

“Who’re you talking to?” Kuta reappeared wearing a soft yellow coat and carrying a pen and notebook.

Runaan tipped his horns up toward the Moon.

Kuta’s eyes widened. “Does she answer you?” he asked, somewhat agog.

“Not in so many words, no.”

“Oh.” Kuta relaxed so immediately that Runaan had to smile. “Having two half-sized arcana always makes me wonder what I’m missing.”

Runaan took Kuta by the hand and drew him toward the meditation boulder, which lay drenched in moonlight. “You’re not ‘missing’ anything, Kuta. There is no ‘correct’ or ‘incorrect’ way to be yourself. There is only you.”

A slight sigh escaped Kuta’s lips. “You know you make me melt into a puddle when you say things like that.”

“I only meant…” Runaan caught himself. “I’m glad my words please you. Now come here and sit between my legs.”

“Yeah, saying things like _that_ doesn’t hurt, either.” Kuta scampered forward.

Runaan caught him with a palm to his chest. His lips were firm, his eyes serious. “I’m not flirting with you.”

Kuta studied him frankly. “I wish you would. Have I been in any way unclear how I feel about you, Runaan?”

“No, you’ve been very clear. I value your honesty, and I enjoy your company. So I will try not to hurt your feelings.”

Kuta wilted a little. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

Runaan did him the honor of maintaining constant eye contact as he explained. “Touch is strange animal for me. When I train my students, we touch in order to learn. We jostle and strike. We adjust and adapt. We soothe and mend. We are familiar out of necessity, and out of a carefully built trust. I am a well trained, battle-hardened warrior. I know exactly what I am capable of.  I never touch anyone lightly. And I will never touch _you_ lightly, Kuta.”

Kuta squinted one eye up at him. “Do you mean lightly as in _gently_ , or lightly as in…”

A tolerant look flickered across Runaan’s features at Kuta’s lightheartedness. “If I touch you, it is because I mean to. Because it is important. And I hope that you will treat me with the same respect.”

Kuta’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oh. _Ohh_.” His hands flinched behind his back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trigger all your warrior reflexes.”

At that, Runaan’s serious expression smoothed into a chuckle. “You would know if you triggered my warrior reflexes. Very briefly.”

Kuta made a gurgling noise in his throat, coughed, and tried once again to speak. “When— _when_ —I earn your trust, will you feel more comfortable being touched?”

Runaan’s lids lowered halfway. “I certainly hope so, for your sake.”

“ _My_ sake?”

Runaan tilted Kuta’s chin up with one fingertip and leaned in close. He let his eyes trail across Kuta’s high cheekbones, the smooth curves of his briar markings, the pert rise of his nose, the soft silk of his lips. By the time his eyes found their way to Kuta’s tawny ones, the poor tinker had begun hyperventilating.

“For _your_ sake,” Runaan breathed, a bare inch from Kuta’s lips.

“I see your point,” Kuta squeaked.

Runaan let out an amused hum and stepped back.

Kuta shivered and shook off Runaan’s spell with extreme difficulty and reluctance. “Then I’ll focus on earning your trust, and you do the touching. If you want to.”

“Fair and accepted. Thank you, Kuta.” Runaan’s eyes flickered with sudden softness before brightening like jewels again. “Now, come here and let me touch you.” With a smile, Runaan settled onto the rock and spread his knees wide, pulling Kuta to sit at the front edge of the boulder with his back against Runaan’s chest. He rested his hands on Kuta’s powerful shoulders. “Relax.”

Kuta trembled at his touch. “That’s really too much to ask right now.”

Runaan’s voice was a gentle murmur near Kuta’s ear. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to distract you.”

“Don’t you _dare_ be sorry,” Kuta shot back warmly, turning his head to catch Runaan’s eye. “Just, show me something so I don’t start drawing pictures of us instead. I’m really, _really_ trying to focus on the mission right now.”

In response, Runaan pressed a hand over Kuta’s eyes. His other hand steadied the tinker’s shoulder, and he pressed his chest against Kuta’s back and murmured, “Lean against me, and tell me what you need. I can adjust the imagery to show anything you want to see.”

Kuta’s breathing was erratic, but he nodded against Runaan’s hand. Runaan concentrated, harnessed his arcanum, and placed an image of Rayla against Kuta’s eyes. “This is Rayla, my niece.”

Kuta inhaled slowly, and his torso finally relaxed. “She’s lovely. How tall is she?”

Runaan adjusted the vision to include himself by Rayla’s side, and the illusions gave each other an evaluating side-eye. “She’s a tiny thing, but she’ll stab you for the last moonberry.”

“How does she fight?”

“Like the crescent moon: both prongs forward.” Runaan based the next vision on a memory of sparring with Rayla using wooden staves, two full moons past. She danced out of his reach, flipped like a leaf on the wind, and caught Runaan on the shoulder with her staff.

“Oh, that’s the move you used on me,” Kuta murmured.

“She’s a fast learner.”

Kuta’s voice rippled with delight. “Show me more. This is amazing. It’s perfect.”

Runaan called up happier, intense memories of training with Rayla. Her reach, her dexterity, her raw strength. Her unbridled enthusiasm. He could feel the small movements Kuta made while sketching with his eyes closed, even turning pages, and the Moonlight doubled the imagery, dazzling Runaan’s senses. Under the arcanum in his mind’s eye, Kuta seemed to glow. “How are you doing that? Sketching without looking?”

“Minerals in the pencil and in the paper. I can see the drawings even past your visions.”

“Double vision, hmm? Seems very Moonshadow to me.”

“Shh. Show me more.”

After at least half an hour, the Moon had risen far enough above the horizon to dominate the night sky. “I think that’s enough on Rayla for me to get a good idea what to make for her. Who else do you have?”

Runaan snugged tight against the back of Kuta’s shoulder, reveling in their shared warmth against the chill of the winter night. He drew another vision before Kuta’s eyes. “This is Fergel, my second. He prefers the longstaff.”

The night spun by, and the Moon continued its stately dance overhead. Runaan murmured in Kuta’s ear, and Kuta sketched and sketched, occasionally asking a question. For hours they sat together on the rock, Runaan’s hand over Kuta’s eyes, his voice soft in the tinker’s ear, and Kuta’s pencil dancing across the paper. By the time they finished, Kuta had sketched drawings on over thirty pages in his notebook.

“Is it enough?” Runaan reached around Kuta and slowly flipped through the pages on his lap, amazed to be able to recognize his friends so clearly from the sketches of an elf who had never met them.

“It’s a very good start.” Kuta held his sketch book still while Runaan paged through the drawings.

Runaan’s hand paused, and he followed Kuta’s enthusiastic comment to its inevitable conclusion. He exhaled and hovered in that breathless moment, until he clenched his jaw and breathed in. _Accepted_. “But it’s not enough.”

Tension stiffened Kuta’s spine, unintentionally pulling him away from Runaan’s chest. He didn’t answer.

Runaan understood anyway—the silence and the gesture told him the same thing, and body language was every Moonshadow’s second tongue. He didn’t want to speak this truth. If even the poorest illusion were close to hand, he’d have eagerly seized it instead. But there was only Kuta. Kuta and the Moonlight and the sketches and the mission. He took a deep breath, very carefully not leaning into Kuta. “You need me to go to them.”

Kuta’s posture deflated a little within the half-circle of Runaan’s arm. “Yes.”

Runaan lay his palm flat atop a drawing of Rayla, with approximate measurements doodled next to her hands, arms, and back. His little moonbeam. Then he lifted his hand and turned it slowly in the Moonlight, drinking it into his skin. His other hand squeezed Kuta’s shoulder. Tight.

Kuta understood. He could always read Runaan, even when Runaan couldn’t read himself. But in this moment, they both knew the truth. “No…” Kuta breathed.

“I _must_ go tonight. I will travel fastest with the light of the full Moon.”

Kuta didn’t reply for several seconds.  When he spoke, his voice was soft. “I understand.” With a heavy sigh, he rose from the moonlit rock. “I’ll make a list of everything I need and gather a few supplies for you.” He headed inside.

Runaan’s thighs cooled without Kuta sitting next to him. The warmth of the Sun faded away, replaced by the cold light of the Moon. Without the tinker directly in front of him, other things quickly shifted into focus. Mission. Honor. Rayla. Runaan stood and strode inside to fetch his pack from the bedroom.

As he walked through the bedroom door, recent memories flooded him, and he slowed. The sheets were still rumpled from where Kuta had napped while Runaan sat watch at his side, holding his glowing hand as the sun arched overhead and set. The room had smelled of sand and wood every night Runaan had slept there. Now, it also smelled of metal and heat and soil and whetstone oils.

It smelled of Kuta.

Runaan settled on the edge of the bed, took up a handful of the blankets, and held them to his nose. His eyes slid shut, and he breathed slowly, deeply. He had to travel light, but Kuta’s scent would weigh nothing in his memory.

When he re-entered the workshop with his pack in hand, Kuta handed him his bowblade, and Runaan settled it diagonally across his chest. The weight balanced well even then. The tinker had also assembled several small tools inside a little cloth bag. He pulled its round neck wide until it lay in a circle on a work table. A dozen or so small cloth pockets had been sewn inside and held such things as pencils, marked string, blank notebook pages, and calipers. Kuta held out a page he’d ripped from his notebook. “Here is what I need. Measure the same areas for everyone.”

Runaan gave him a sharp nod and took the page. He read it, memorized the details, then rolled it and tucked it into an empty pocket. After pulling the cloth bag shut, he tucked it inside his pack.

“And watch them spar in the combinations I suggested in my notes. You can show me more of that when you return.” Kuta lifted up a basket of food. “Take this with you.”

Runaan glanced across the variety of food the Sun-blood offered: jerky, dried fruits, root slices, fresh oranges, and little jars of cider. “I can’t take all of this.”

“I want you to.”

Runaan twitched an eyebrow. “Kuta, that basket is literally bigger than my pack.”

“Oh. Right. Take what you need, then.”

Runaan selected a couple of items, but Kuta clearly didn’t think Runaan was taking nearly enough food with him. He tried to pack so much food into Runaan’s pack that the assassin would have oranges popping out of every pocket if he ran through the night with it all. Runaan patiently unpacked most of it, only to see Kuta try to pack something else in its place. The pair kept up a constant, soft-spoken argument for several minutes as various foodstuffs danced merrily in and out of Runaan’s pack.

“I see you putting that cider in there again. Stop that.” Runaan reached out and held Kuta’s wrist as he tried to sneak the jar into Runaan’s pack.

Kuta twitched. “Okay, wait a second. We just went over touching. So if you’re touching me, it must be important.” He looked up inquiringly.

“Liquid weight is bulky and requires containers.” Runaan slid his gaze to the giant basket of food. “If you’re going to overload my pack, pick something dried.” An exasperated smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Kuta looked from Runaan’s face to his hand, still on Kuta’s wrist. Then he looked back at Runaan. “You’re still touching me.”

Runaan didn’t take his eyes off Kuta’s. “So I am. Do you mind?”

Kuta chuckled. “You’re kidding, right?”

Warmth swirled in Runaan’s chest, and he drank in the sight of Kuta, standing in his workshop, laughing at Runaan’s inability to let go of him. _This moment, right now. This is how I will remember you._

His mind gave his heart a nudge. “I should go. The night is half gone.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Kuta gave Runaan a bright smile and surreptitiously slipped two more spears of dried papaya into his pack.

Runaan adjusted his bowblade and pretended not to notice.

They stepped into the front garden and walked halfway to the brick alley. Moonlight blanched the grass to white and limned the bare tree branches with silver. The whole world lay smothered in a blanket of black and white. Runaan felt a deep peace wash over him. _Black and white. Right and wrong. Life and death._

“You’ll get home safely, right?” Kuta struggled not to sound worried. “No one’s hunting you or trying to stop you or anything?”

“I’ll be fine. And I will return as soon as I can. Hopefully the New Moon Council will have news for me when I arrive. The sooner this business is over with…” He trailed off. He could not guarantee any sort of future for himself, let alone for Kuta. His eyes lingered on Kuta’s, reveling in their honeyed light. “I will return,” he finished.

“Do you promise?” Kuta’s voice was low and soft.

Runaan hesitated to answer. “Moonshadows take their oaths very seriously. That’s why we’re in this position in the first place—we took an oath, and we broke it.”

“ _You_ did not break it,” Kuta insisted.

Runaan sighed through his nose. The Sun-blood’s insistence on not lumping Runaan in with his fellow Dragon Guard was well-intentioned, but ultimately irrelevant. “Would you rather I lay dead alongside the Dragon King?”

Kuta’s mouth dropped open in pained shock. Then his brows lowered. “How _dare_ you, Moonshadow.”

Runaan merely smiled. “And with that, we’ve come full circle. Wasn’t that how you greeted me here, four days ago?”

Unamused, Kuta raised a hand as if to push Runaan, but he balled his fist and managed to burn his anger away. His hand dropped to his side as if in defeat, even though he had triumphed over his urge to smack Runaan silly for his morbid humor. “Your cavalier attitude toward death is going to kill me.”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed, and the Moon glinted off his curling horns as he tipped his head. “It’s not cavalier. It’s calculated.”

“Promise me you’ll come back if you can.”

The Moon glimmered in Runaan’s eyes, giving Runaan an otherworldly, distant stare. “You are too quick to need me, Sun-blood.”

Kuta stepped closer, gesturing with a quick, open hand. “It’s not _need_ , Moonshadow. It’s balance. When you’re missing something and then you find it, you don’t need to take a long time to decide whether it helps. It fits in its place.”

Runaan was silent in the face of Kuta’s confession. He felt a little called out, too. Runaan couldn’t help his untrusting nature any more than Kuta could help his powerful emotions.

Kuta continued, “I’m Sun and Earth. They spin too fast, just those two. Makes me feel dizzy. Give me a Moon, though…” He held his cupped hands out and let his palms fill with moonlight. “Everything slows down and makes sense. My struggle for balance—it becomes a dance.” He dipped one palm, then the other, as if they were the scales of justice.

Kuta’s words sank into Runaan’s soul. He had not felt needed since the humans’ attack. Despised, yes. Reviled, absolutely. Hated, _repeatedly_. But never needed. Fergel and the others would welcome his experience, but they did not need him to lead. Rayla trusted him to teach her, but she was old enough to live on her own if he fell in battle.

No one _needed_ him.

Except Kuta.

With Moonlight soaking into his skin, Runaan opened his mouth and made a promise. “I give you my word, then. I will return.”

“You’d better. You’re taking my best pair of calipers with you.”

Runaan blinked in surprise, but his moonlit features softened into a smile. “I’ll keep them safe for you. I’ll do my very best to guard and protect everything you’re entrusting me with, Sun-blood.” Runaan lowered his forehead until it rested against Kuta’s.

Kuta’s cheeks lit with a low, warm glow that highlighted his broad smile. They both knew that Runaan was departing with Kuta’s heart tucked safely in his pack, right next to those calipers. “That’s all I ask.”

Runaan took a step back and tilted his horns with a small smile. “That’s _not_ all you’ve asked.”

He embraced his Moonshadow form, feeing it _ting_ in his mind as if he became both air and metal at the same time. His skin faded to deepest indigo, offset by a faint luminescent glow that encompassed everything he carried. Shadows crept around the edges of his fingers and lurked along his bowstring. The night came into sharp focus. Kuta glowed as if he was made of gemstones, and the briar markings on his cheeks and shoulders shifted from glittering green to a pale yellow-white. _From briars to sunbeams. He is truly beautiful._

“I can barely see you, but I know you’re right in front of me. In fact,” Kuta added, bending over and tilting his horns, “I can see right through you. That is amazing. It’s not fair that you have to leave now. I have so many questions!”

“Ask me when I return, Kuta, for I have promised it now, and no force in this world will hold me from fulfilling my oath to you.” Runaan stepped close. His eyes held Kuta’s, and they dazzled him with golden gleams he hadn’t been able to see in the daylight. Runaan’s heart brimmed with softness, and he stood utterly content, though he could read Kuta’s desire for a parting kiss in the tinker’s soft lower lip and constricted breathing.

“Runaan…”

“I must go.” Runaan’s lips twitched as if he would say more, but he thought better of it. He turned on his heel and strode away into the night before he dallied any longer.

The Moon was nearly overhead. Runaan felt its power pumping through his veins as he eased down the smooth brick alley. Through his years of training with the Dragon Guard, Runaan had honed his generous magical ability to a comfortably sharp point. He possessed several Moonshadow skills at high skill levels, but there was one skill he had rarely had cause to use, and it was not easy for him to wield it. The full Moon was at its zenith, though. As he ghosted his way through the sleepy Sunfire village, he concentrated on forming a solid illusion of himself.

Behind him, he felt the illusion stride back up Kuta’s garden path. Its long, loose, trailing white hair glowed as brightly as the Moon, and its eyes were alight in the dimness. Runaan chuckled as Kuta’s shocked tone split the quiet air a block behind him. His phantom twin stalked toward Kuta, took the tinker’s face in its hands, and kissed him with the thorough intensity that Kuta had used to slam Runaan against the workshop wall. Kuta made a delightful series of breathy noises and  melted into a quivering mess in the illusion’s arms. Runaan’s illusion pressed its soft lips against the breathless tinker’s ear and whispered, “I _will_ return.”

As Runaan let the illusion begin to slip from his mind, he felt Kuta’s voice shuddering against his magic like a fading echo, murmuring, “Ohh, Moonshadow, that’s _definitely_ cheating.”

Runaan’s heart pounded in his chest, and his smile was as bright as the Moonlight in his hair _. I lurk. I cheat. I am Moonshadow. And I will return to you._

He reached the village gates. The endless night stretched out before him, while Kuta anchored these past four days like a monolithic rock in his memory, jutting solidly into Runaan’s moonlit sky. There was no ignoring Kuta’s effect on his heart. Now, Runaan would have to work on convincing his head to trust Kuta, while he also juggled his training for a mission of justice and avenging Avizandum’s death.

His heart beat hard. The Moon trailed its fingers along his cheekbones and through his hair. Runaan paused one last time at the gates.

One more step, and he’d leave this sweet illusion behind.

One more step, and everything would be at stake again. His world of danger and duty, rocketing back into orbit around him.

One more step, and every drop of energy Runaan wasn’t pouring into his mission would be spent working to bring him right back to this spot. Right back to Kuta. Right back to those warm honey eyes.

Runaan’s smile reflected the Moonlight, hard and bright. _Black and white. Right and wrong. Love and death. How I live for this._

He began to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter written for about five months. Now I can FINALLY start to write some new Runaan/Kuta chapters. Yess.
> 
> Please enjoy, and thank you for reading this far!


End file.
